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STUDIES IN DICKENS 



EDITED FOR 

THE CHAUTAUQUA HOME 

READING SERIES 

BY 

MABELL S. C. SMITH 




(Eljautauqua Pr^aa 

CHAUTAUQUA, NEW YORK 
1910 






Copyright, 19 lo, 
By CHAUTAUQUA PRESS 



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/^. fM A 4» O O a O (^ 



INTRODUCTION 

This series of ''Studies in Dickens'' sketches the 
career of the great noveHst in the words of biographers 
and critics and collectors of reminiscences who have 
written about outstanding events of his life and about 
his work. The world that wept and laughed at his 
will, marked his passing years as those that produced 
one or another of the stories that moved them so pow- 
erfully. The initiated knew that from the sordid days 
of his childhood to the triumphs of his age, the or- 
dinary experiences of work and play, the joys of 
fatherhood and the sorrows of bereavement, the toil 
that builds the foundation and the success that touches 
the pinnacle with fire — all were his. The selections of 
this volume show both his public and his private life. 

It is right to think of Dickens as the Prince of 
Laughmakers. That rank was his ; but he was also the 
Prince of Moralists and the Prince of Humanitarians. 
The earliest figure that emerged with definite outline 
from the shade of Boz's portfolio, Mr. Pickwick in his 
own genial person, preached the gospel of joy and the 
beauty of unselfishness and the need of help for the 
poor and the troubled — a religion enlarged in detail 
but not in scope in all the writer's after work. 

Dickens's visits to America as the "Guest of the Na- 
tion" in 1842, and a quarter of a century later as the 



INTRODUCTION 

wearer of laurels that were weightier but not more 
fresh and shining, were events of moment in the days 
when the New World lured few notables to its shores. 
The thrilling voice and the blazing eyes of the Reader 
lived long in the memories of all who came under their 
compelling charm. 

Critics and admirers alike agree that Dickens was 
the Great Reporter of social conditions that affected 
the lives of the masses of the people in his England. 
To know Dickens, therefore, is to get an understanding 
of those conditions which memory will retain. Hence 
the editorial principle on which this volume is based: 
a comprehensive compilation from the enormous mass 
of writings about Dickens, accompanied by synopses 
of his own voluminous productions. No other book 
performs this special service. Its preparation for an 
''English Year" of topics in the Chautauqua Home 
Reading Course is opportune, to say nothing of the 
so-called ''Dickens revival" among students of litera- 
ture and the reading public at large. 

For their cordial cooperation in the preparation of this 
volume appreciative thanks are offered to Dodd, Mead 
and Company, Chapman and Hall, J. B. Lippincott 
Company, Walter Scott, Thomas Y, Crowell and Com- 
pany, The Macmillan Company, Houghton, Mifflin 
Company, D. Appleton and Company, Elliott Stock,. 
Harper and Brothers, Chatto and Windus, A. and C. 
Black, The University Society, Charles Scribner's 
Sons, and T. Fisher Unwin. 

Editor Chautauqua Press. 



CONTENTS 

CHAP. PAGE 

Introduction 

I A General Survey i 

Andrew Lang. 

II The Boyhood of Dickens 32 

G. K. Chesterton. 

III Dickens as Reporter and as ''Boz" 47 

John Forster; ''Impromptu/' C. J. 
Davids. 

IV "Pickwick'' 58 

Frank T. Marzials; Death of Mary 
Hogarth, Dickens and Hogarth. 

V Dickens the Humanitarian 73 

James T. Fields; Louis Cazamian. 

VI Dickens Among Educators 98 

J. L. Hughes; "Oliver Twist," "Nich- 
olas Nickleby." 

VII "Old Curiosity Shop" and "Barnaby 

Rudge" 124 

Thomas Hood; "Dickens in Camp," 
Bret Harte ; F. G. Kitton. 

VIII In Strange Lands 144 

Adolphus W. Ward ; The "Carol" and 
"The CTiimes," Dickens and Hogarth ; 
"Dombey and Son." 



CONTENTS 

IX American Echoes 169 

James T. Fields; ''A Welcome to 
Boz/^ W. H. Venable; Dickens and 
Hogarth; Phihp Hone; ''Martin 
Chuzzlewit.'' 

X ''David Copperfield" 185 

J. Camden Hotten; Robert Langton; 
F. G. Kitton ; Percy Fitzgerald. 

XI "Bleak House," ''Hard Times/' "Little 

Dorrit'' 197 

F. G. Kitton ; John Forster ; Frank T. 
Marzials. 

XII At Gad's Hill, 1856-1870 216 

Frank T. Marzials; "Tale of Two 
Cities,'' Hamilton Wright Mabie; 
"Great Expectations," Adolphus W. 
Ward; Death of Thackeray, Percy 
Fitzgerald; "Our Mutual Friend," 
"Edwin Drood," George Gissing, F. 

G. Kitton. 

XIII Dickens as Actor and Reader 242 

Charles Dickens; Mary Cowden 
Clarke ; George Dolby. 

XIV Sports and Pets 259 

Mamie Dickens, 

XV The Death of Dickens 268 

Percy Fitzgerald ; Blanchard Jerrold. 

XVI Art, Veracity, Moral Purpose 2^-^ 

George Gissing; "Dickens," A. C. 
Swinburne 

Synopses of Dickens's Novels 
J. Walter McSpadden. 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 



A GENERAL SURVEY* 

The modern theorists who explain genius by "hered- 
ity," may own themselves puzzled in the case of Charles 
Dickens. The old plan of detecting submerged intel- 
lect in the mother, is refuted by the circumstance that 
Dickens's mother lent her traits to the immortal Mrs. 
Nickleby. More elaborate research seems to have thrown 
no genealogical light on the mystery. Mr. Forster's 
biography of his friend does not begin with "an ell of 
genealogy." Mr. Carlyle's pedigree has been traced, 
through unliterary peasants, back to the Lords Torthor- 
wald, "who never saw pen and ink," and so to a period 
preceding the Norman Conquest. Nothing of the kind 
has been done for Dickens. On the other side, his kin- 
dred were not remarkable for hysteria, lunacy, apo- 
plexy, consumption, or any of the other disagreeable 
constituents out of which genius is believed (by Lom- 
broso) to be composed. They were very normal rep- 
resentatives of the middle classes. If Dickens inherited 
a turn for composition from his father, the original of 
Mr. Micawber, he certainly did not inherit the casual 
and shiftless character of that hero, being a remarkably 
keen man of business. Thus it is certain that though, 

*By Andrew Lang, in The Fortnightly Review, Decem- 
ber, 1898. General essay on the works of Charles Dickens, 

contributed to the Gadshill edition of Messrs. Chapman and 
Hall. 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

to an all-knowing mind, the inherited constituents of 
genius in the author of 'Tickwick'' must be visible, 
it is equally sure that they evade the investigations of 
human industry. Dickens was the child of himself, 
and of his works. 

The study of Dickens's early environment throws 
much light on his bent of mind. Born at Landport, 
in Portsea, on February 7th, 1812, Dickens might just 
have remembered, as a childish impression, the battle 
of Waterloo. His boyhood was spent in the years of 
dissatisfaction and reaction which ensued, but we know 
from his own remarks that he then heard of Radicals 
only as evil men, who thought the Prince Regent too 
fat, and were banded against that constituted authority 
from which Dickens pere, as a clerk in the navy-pay 
office, received an income inadequate to his expenses. 
While Dickens was growing up to be twenty, the Re- 
form Bill was passed, the charter of his own middle 
class, but it awoke no enthusiasm in his ardent nature. 
He had seen too much of popular misery, and of Par- 
liamentary proceedings, to believe in the new panacea, 
and became naturally a Radical himself, much as, in 
totally different circumstances, his great immediate 
predecessor, Scott, became a Tory. Dickens was thus, 
from his very first essays, a voice in the great murmur 
of modern discontent, an im.pulse in the movement 
which makes towards an end undiscerned, but he never 
had a system of thought about the object which chiefly 
occupied his serious hours. He bore a lasting grudge 
against the memory of his famous early sufferings ; 
but one cannot agree with Mr. Gissing, in his most 
interesting study, in holding that Dickens "strove to 



A GENERAL SURVEY 

found his title of gentleman on something more sub- 
stantial than glory/' One fails to see that he ever 
thought for a moment about the title of gentleman. 
Commercial by instinct, he wished his genius to re- 
ceive the material reward which was its due ; he Vv^anted 
to live largely, liberally, and generously. His tastes 
and his beneficence needed money, and the making of 
money by labor in his art probably tended to become, 
unconsciously, an end in itself. He never could bear 
to yield to age, to resign his endeavor, to leave his por- 
tentous tnevgy unoccupied. Like Scott, he might have 
said, *'No rest for me but in the woolen;" he could 
not withdraw, like Shakespeare, to country quiet. His 
native bent was as much towards the stage as to fiction, 
and he wore himself out untim.ely in working the 
theatrical side of his nature, in his Readings. The 
desire to be conspicuously before the world which 
idolized him. may have been as potent as the need of 
money in spurring the energy of Dickens to its fatal 
goal. 

It is to these circumstances, extraordinary energy, 
craving for employment, a half-suppressed genius for 
the stage, need of money, and need of publicity, that 
we trace these defects of Dickens's work which are 
due to surplusage. He did too much, with the inevit- 
able consequences. He read too little. His nature was 
all for literary action ; not for study, criticism, and re- 
flection. The results were these blemishes with which 
he is reproached in that age of reaction which ever 
succeeds to a career of vast popular success. Criti- 
cism, indeed, was not lacking, even when he was best 
accepted. It is quite an error to think that Dickens's 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

literary contemporaries did not see the motes where 
a younger generation is apt to see the beams. At pres- 
ent we do not find it easy to estimate the genius which, 
even in its errors, so delighted our fathers. A natural 
loyalty must not blind us to defects, nor should the 
complacent superiority of a more recent generation be 
allowed to lead us yet further astray. 

The education of Dickens, as he has described it him- 
self, was only a trifle better than that w^hich the wis- 
dom of the elder Mr. Weller devised for his son. From 
a very early age Dickens's knowledge of shabby Lon- 
don was, indeed, extensive and peculiar. After ac- 
quiring the elementary arts of reading and writing, he 
was fortunate enough to fall in with a little neglected 
collection of the great novelists of the last century — 
Fielding, Smollett, Sterne, Defoe — some volumes of 
travel, and the "Arabian Nights/' On these he made 
himself ; and probably the popular tales with which his 
nurse, Mercy, used to frighten him, nourished the more 
romantic part of his mind, which dwelt lovingly on 
things uncanny. The Waverley Novels began to appear 
before Dickens could read, and ceased when he was 
about twenty. We know that he admired them, but 
we do not know whether they were the joy of his boy- i 
hood. His early reading, which really was the chief I 
literary sustenance of his mind, went back to the eigh- 
teenth century. Feudalism and the Catholic and his- 
toric past had no charm for him ; he was, in fact, rather 
a child of the last age than of his own in literature. 
Against that age, with all his radicalism, he was not 
wholly in reaction. The true division between past 
and present — the railway cutting — was made after 



A GENERAL SURVEY 

Dickens was formed as a genius ; he belongs essentially 
to the old coaching days, and his heart, if not his judg- 
ment, was on the side of Merry England. His judg- 
ment ran otherwise, for it was prematurely humani- 
tarian. He loved the jolly publicans and coachmen, the 
tavern life, the punch, the red faces and red waistcoats; 
the broad-blown merriment which accompanied 
cruelty of punishment, and indifference to popular 
suffering. Cruelty and indifference and oppression 
were detested by Dickens above all things ; yet, in the 
constitution of society, humor had been coeval with 
hardness of heart. We all are, or ought to be, tender- 
hearted now; but where are our humorists? A work 
on recent Victorian humorists would be a scanty and 
gloomy compilation. Dickens was able to combine 
the old jollity with the new humanitarianism ; his age, 
education, observation, and natural temperament all 
combined to this result. The scanty taste for books, 
the absence of the literary quality, the native rhetoric 
of one who had not painfully reflected on style, were to 
prevent him from puzzling the widest public, but, in 
turn, were to make him most distasteful to the later 
precieux and precieuses. His quality has become his 
defect. 

Brought up in slums and shabby streets, familiar 
with the work-room of the blacking factory, with the 
pawnbroker, the dun, the bailiff, the debtors' prison, 
Dickens ''was making himself all the while," like Scott 
among the glens of Liddesdale. Odious and detested 
as were his surroundings, they only fostered his sym- 
pathy with the dispossessed, the unknightly disinher- 
ited. The genius of the world selected for him this 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

gloomy apprenticeship, that there might be a new voice, 
and a new tale for it to tell among men. Born in 
whatever rank, educated in slums, or at Charterhouse 
and Trinity, Dickens must have been an observer, a 
teller of tales. He has remarked on the instantaneous 
keenness of his own observation, and on the rapidity 
of his inferences, even in his earliest years. These 
things were free gifts of his genius, and he naturally 
delighted in their exercise, as in his long nocturnal 
prowls in poor neighborhoods. He v/as born to note 
each unmarked trait, each eccentricity, and to lend his 
eyes to the mass of us unobservant spectators of life. 
Fortune placed him early in Thackeray's ''dreadful 
poor man's country;'' born in Thackeray's class, he 
would have observed that, too, as, in fact, he never 
actually did. To the study of the \vell-to-do, of the 
contented and well-bred class, Dickens brought older 
eyes and a grain of prejudice. It might have been 
wiser in him to enter society as Lockhart did, consid- 
ering it as a theater where ''the dresses and actresses" 
w^ere prettier than in any other. But he did not choose 
to become really familiar with a world which he often 
chose to satirize; hence the frequent failure of such 
satire. Perhaps a. man can never write his best out- 
side of the sphere of his earty and most poignant im- 
pressions. He would have been in society, not of it, 
an intelligent stranger, like the Chinese of Goldsmith. 
or the Huron of Voltaire. He did not like the idea of 
that position : not a matter for marvel ; his Dedlocks 
and his Cousin Feenix are decidedly sketched from a 
distance. But it w^as not his especial business to draw 
them. 



A GENERAL SURVEY 

The observation of Dickens was as peculiar in kind, 
as minute and sleepless in exercise. Every human 
being, of course, down to the.^emi-idiotic landlord of 
the inn in "Barnaby Rudge," sees existence at an angle 
of his own. We look at life each through Qur personal 
prism. But the prism of Dickens, if the phrase is per- 
missible, was peculiarly prismatic. It lent eccentricity 
of color and of form to the object observed. It set- 
tled on a feature, and exaggerated that. Now, to look 
at things thus is the essence of the art of the caricatur- 
ist. A very good example may be found in the amus- 
ing charges of Mr. Max Beerbohm. He shuns or omits 
everything but that which he considers essential for his 
purpose of diverting, and he insists upon that. It has 
been denied that Dickens's work is caricature, and to 
say that it is always caricature would be vastly unjust. 
Nevertheless, the insistence on Carker*s teeth, Pancks's 
snort, Skimpole's manner, Jarndyce's east wind, and 
Rigaud's moustache, to take only a few cases, is ex- 
actly what We mean by caricature ; and it is caricature 
in the manner of Mr. Carlyle. The historian, like the 
novelist, was wont to fix on a single trait or two — in 
Robespierre, St. Just, or whoever it might be — and to 
hammer insistently upon that. It was a ready, if in- 
expensive, method of securing a distinct impression. 
Both Dickens and Carlyle overworked this method, 
which becomes, in the long run, a stumbling block — 
to Monsieur Taine, for example. 

Connected with the vividness of Dickens's observa- 
tion (which becomes, in effect, a recreation of the ob- 
ject) is what one may call his Animism, in Mr. Her- 
bert Spencer's sense of that ambiguous word. In the 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

opinion of many philosophers, early man, and simple 
natural men, and children, regard all nature as ani- 
mated. Whether they attain this idea by virtue of a 
process of peopling nature with "spirits," or whether 
without conscious theory, they mentally transfer to all 
things in the universe the vitality of which they are 
conscious themselves, or whether their mode of thought 
is merely playful, is not a question which we need dis- 
cuss here. Whatever the origin of Animism, thus un- 
derstood, it is a mark of savage and popular invention, 
as displayed in myth and fairy tale. Now, the early 
form of human fancy, the form conspicuous among 
backward races, peasants, fishers, and children, is un- 
deniably the source of all the civilized poetry and ro- 
mance. The genius of Dickens was a relapse on the 
early human intellectual condition. He sees all things 
in that vivid animated way, and inanimate objects play 
living parts in his books more frequently than in any 
other modern works, except Hans Andersen's fairy 
tales. ^'Hardly a form of matter without a living qual- 
ity; no silent thing without its voice." This manner 
was perfectly natural to Dickens, who, we may pre- 
sume, had not reflected much on Animism, or the sur- 
vivals of the primitive in the civilized intelligence. But 
the manner tended to becom.e mannerism ; like all man- 
nerisms, was easily imitated, and degenerated into a 
weariness. 

Dickens himself leaves it certain that his imagination, 
at times, went back to what is probably the primitive 
condition of actual hallucination. Faint perceptions of 
trees, or other objects, in a dim light, became recogniza- 
ble illusions, representing persons absent. He awoke 

8 



A GENERAL SURVEY 

once, and saw his father sitting by his bed, when his 
father was at a distance. His dreams were wonder- 
fully distinct and coherent; sometimes they seemed to 
slip the bond of time, and become actually premonitory. 
At other times, he himself could not say whether the 
dream was onar or hupar, in Homeric phrase — an illu- 
sion of sleep or a waking vision. All this side of genius, 
all its manifestations and experiences of the "sub- 
liminal" or sub-conscious self, form a topic hitherto 
very little studied, but obviously deserving of the care 
of psychologists. Dickens himself was interested in 
the theme, but subordinated his interest, for fear of 
being carried beyond the reckonings of common sense. 
Here it m.ust suffice to say that his experiences of this 
kind were on a par w^ith those of Goethe, Shelley, Al- 
fred de Musset, Alexandre Dumas, Scott, George 
Sand, Socrates, Herschel, Stevenson, Napoleon, and 
even Thackeray. In this place we may be content to 
remark on them merely as common notes of the ex- 
altation of genius, though, of course, they may occur 
to persons who have no conspicuous genius for litera- 
ture or action. 

Related to these primeval faculties was Dickens's in- 
tense power of miaginative vision and audition. He 
saw his characters, and heard them speak. In Mr. Gal- 
ton's phrase, he was a powerful " visualizer ;'' he 
thought in pictures, not in words. These essential dif- 
ferences in mental processes are not confined to persons 
of genius ; an author must not only have 'Vision," but 
must have the power of transferring his visions to his 
readers, by something else than the primitive method 
traditional in the Highlands. Again, he must not 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

only "see/' but see things worth seeing and reporting. 
It is probably the case that all writers of genius have 
thought in this, which seems to be the earlier human 
way, now much effaced by various causes. Certainly 
this was the way of Dickens. His fancy acted with 
the freshness of the morning of the world, though the 
materials on which it played were those of the slum, 
the law-court, the prison, the alehouse, or whatever 
is most remote from the visionary golden age. "Our 
Parish'* is not in Utopia. 

Such, roughly speaking, was the genius of Dickens, 
in itself, in the true sense, "given," underived, and akin 
to all true creative temperaments. Sympathy, insight, 
vision, observation, peculiarity of mental angle or point 
of view, were all combined with humor, and, in youth, 
with high spirits so vehement as to constitute a kind of 
genius of themselves. To all this circumstances added, 
what might otherwise have been absent, the knowledge 
of a vast field of life almost unexplored by any othe!" 
great English writer, except Fielding and Crabbe. As 
a magistrate, Fielding knew the poor, on whose side, 
in whose cause, in praise of whose generous virtues, 
his great kind voice is ahvays uplifted. Prisons he 
knew about in more w^ays than one, and Captain 
Booth's gaol is a companion picture to Dickens's Fleet 
and Marshalsea. His own experience guided Dickens 
in his first sketches, while his brief period as a lawyer's 
clerk enabled him to paint the profession, from the 
Lord Chancellor to Mr. Solomon Pell, with the breadth 
and accuracy displayed by Scott in the same field. 

Practice as a newspaper reporter, in or out of Par- 
liament, added to his knowledge of life, and ruined en- 

lO 



A GENERAL SURVEY 

thusiasrn for our representative institutions; while 
Dickens's inclination for the stage prompted him to 
a living study of every kind of cabotin and public 
amuser, from the man with performing dogs, to the 
Crtimmleses and Mr. Wopsle. By the time he was 
twenty-three, Dickens had learned the world which he 
was to illustrate, and was, in potentiality, all that he 
ever became, except the unrivalled humorist. Humor, 
I must confess, is much less apparent to me in his early 
''Sketches'' than observation, sympathy, knowledge, 
and that peculiar vein of benevolent bitterness which 
usually marks his social satire. Already he was, as he 
remained, a reformer, a moralist, a writer with a pur- 
pose. One does not find in him at this period the 
splendid spirits, the inexhaustible gaiety, which dawned 
on the world in "Pickwick." In the ^'Sketches" he is 
still under the depression of struggle, poverty, neglect, 
and, possibly, of disappointed love; for his early love 
affair, with its Dora, later Flora, was passionate and 
real, if far from chivalrous in the long run. But Dick- 
ens began "Pickwick" as a young man who saw his path 
now clear before him, and as a happy and accepted 
lover. The shadows fell away, and Mr. Pickwick 
stepped beaming on the stage, surrounded by his im- 
mortal company. The sunlight grew clearer. Mr. Pick- 
wick ceased to be the amateur suburban savant, and 
bloomed into the delight of mankind — the cockney 
Quixote, the soul of gaitered chivalry; the cockney 
Socrates with his disciples; the obscure Johnson of a 
newer Fleet Street. This great man, in his benevo- 
lence, chivalry, childlike wisdom, and geniality, reminds 
us alternately of all the three characters mentioned; 

II 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

and surely Mr. Pickwick himself refutes the slander 
that ''Dickens could not draw a gentleman." If Mr, 
Pickwick is not a gentleman (of course, not in the 
heraldic sense), who is? Who was ever more courte- 
ous, and considerate, and (despite Mrs. Bardell and 
the lady in yellow curl-papers) more blameless in his 
relations with women? Who more gaily put himself 
in peril to rescue virtue in distress? Who was more 
fiery on the point of honor, even if his attitude of self- 
defence was unscientific? In whom do we mark a 
hand more open, a heart more tender, or more eager 
to forgive? Indeed, Mr. Pickwick seems "scarce other 
than my own ideal knight/' though ''a knight sin amor/' 
like the good Earl Marischal. His foibles are amiable ; 
his scutcheon is white as the pennon of Brian Tunstal. 
He did not shun the bowl : nor did Socrates, who, to be 
sure, like Dr. Johnson, had the stronger head. These 
excesses of the Pickwickians are to be taken in a Pick- 
wickian sense; they are as symbolical as Maeterlinck, 
and infinitely more entertaining. As to method or plot, 
"Pickwick" has none, and needs none. It is not a novel, 
but something far better ; it is "Pickwick," the breviary 
of kindly men. "Delightful book !" as Thackeray cries 
when Dugald Dalgetty's name comes into his mind. 
"To think of it is to want to jump up and take it down 
from the shelf." It opens to us a world literally crowded 
with human beings, of whom the least important even 
are permanent creations, friends whom we do not for- 
get. Nothing is lost, in such a work, by the optimism 
which converts Mr. Jingle and Job Trotter, and leaves 
us, practically, on good terms with all the world. This 
is not Realism ; we are far from being on good terms 

12 



A GENERAL SURVEY 

with all of our acquaintance. This is the optimism of 
Shakespeare's comedies, in which the author cannot be 
unrelentingly angry with his naughty puppets. They 
have served his purpose, and our purpose ; let them go 
away, sin no more, and marry ladies of whom they are 
quite unworthy. So even Thackeray spares Colonel 
Altamont, for whom he had intended a very bad end. 
The modern novelist and critic, who cannot forgive 
Dickens's tolerance, and protests in the sacred name of 
insulted Art and injured Nature, may go wage his war 
with Shakespeare for like ofifenses. The world will 
decide in favor of Shakespeare's artistic instinct, as 
against the critic's artistic theory. 

Dickens was not always so kind. He condemns Mr. 
Pecksniff and Mr. Squeers to pains and penalties. Now, 
we can readily pardon a poor devil who has made us 
laugh so much as Mr. Pecksniff ; and as to Mr. Squeers, 
Dickens leaves us in a quandary. He deserves the 
knout, the boots, the "extreme torture of the Pilnic- 
winks -'' but, then, he is entertaining. What is to be 
done with the caitiff, with the whole deathless family, 
whose sun can never "go down behind the western 
wave?" In fact, there were not any such people. 
Dickens could not bear their sheer unvarnished cruelty, 
so he made them too humorous for possibility. This 
may have been very wrong, in view of canons of Art, 
but it is entirely successful. There are the Squeerses 
— nobody can wish them otherwise; the artistic prob- 
lem solvittir ambulando, like the puzzles of the Eleatic 
philosophers. "Achilles cannot catch the tortoise" — but 
he does; the Squeerses could not exist — but they do. 
Art, like Nature, is justified by the fact. 

13 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

The magical success of 'Tickwick" was so far unfor- 
tunate that it presently brought Dickens acquainted 
with overwork, with the pressure and haste from which 
he never wholly emancipated himself. He began "Oliver 
Twist'' when about half through "Pickwick/' while 
"Nicholas Nickleby" and "Barnaby Rudge" collided, 
in the making, with "Oliver Twist." These unhappy 
engagements, this working double tides, or treble tides 
— toils that would have been too laborious for Scott — 
cannot but have impaired the quality of the produc- 
tions. In "Oliver Twist'' Dickens became didactic as 
to the Poor Law; he had his social purpose clear be- 
fore him. He also displayed his congenital incapacity 
for composition, hardly overcome in "Bleak House'^ 
and "Great Expectations." His heroine was a nobody ; 
his chief villain, apart from Mr. Sikes, a creature of 
melodrama. He abused coincidences. Again, in 
"Nicholas Nickleby," the plot becomes a dreary en- 
tanglement, and we might say, as Johnson did about 
Richardson, "Why, sir, if you were to read jt for the 
story, your impatience would be so much fretted that 
you would hang yourself." We must not read these 
works for "the story." We cannot believe in Arthur 
Gride, and all the intrigues connected with the parent- 
age of Smike, and the iniquities of Ralph. The villains 
are too villainous, or not villainous in the right way. 
But, like "Pickwick," the book is populated by friends 
whom we never forget. Their name is Legion — the 
Crummleses and all their company, Mr. Lih^ick. 
Newman Noggs, the Squeerses, Mrs. Nickelby. Tilda 
— the list is all but endless. Dickens's love of the 
stage, occasionally harmful to his talent, enabled him tc 

14 



A GENERAL SURVEY 

know and create these splendid strollers — types of the 
eternal cabotin, but more genial than the theatrical 
people of any other author. With them Dickens was 
at home. He was not at home— how could he be? — 
with Sir Mulberry and Lord Frederick Verisopht. 

In '^Oliver Twist'' and in ''Nicholas Nickleby" oc- 
cur the earliest examples of Dickens's pathos. Now 
pathos is not very easy to define, though we know what 
we mean by it, and what Mr. Stevenson meant when 
he spoke of ''wallowing naked in the pathetic." The 
pathos of Dickens is chiefly displayed in scenes where 
some very young and weak person is overwhelmed 
by misfortune, hunger, and ill-treatment, or succumbs 
to death. If a beast, say Dora's dog, is the victim, 
then, especially when poor silly little Dora is a sufferer 
at the same time, we have very deep pathos. It seems 
to appeal to our pity for helpless things hopelessly 
overborne by sorrows and sufferings, and, so far, varies 
from the tragic. Thus Aristotle would confine the 
scope of tragedy to persons by no means weak, as men 
go — to kings, queens, and heroes. What humanity can 
do by way of' resistance to the pressure of circum- 
stance, they can do. Now, if we examine the best im- 
aginative literature of the world, we shall find that the 
Aristotelian principle has, consciously or unconsciously, 
been pretty faithfully followed. The two things most 
approaching to pathos in ancient letters are, perhaps 
the death of Socrates, in Plato, and the last hours 
of the Sicilian Expedition, in Thucydides. But men 
here, and strong men, are enduring such fates as mor- 
tals are born to. and the expression is of the simplest 
and the least forced. Medea, before the murder of her 

15 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

children in Euripides, is in a pathetic posture ; but she 
is defying God and man, herself a being of divine 
origin. Where Homer touches on the ways of children 
— on the fate of Astyanax, for example — he is pa- 
thetic; but how briefly he dwells on such things! In 
Shakespeare we have pathos in the lament of IMacduff 
over his little ones, the prayer of Arthur to Hubert, 
the exclamations of Constance; but such passages are 
scarce, and are not prolonged. In Scott we have 
scarcely a death-scene, except where men die under 
arms. In Thackeray we have Colonel Newcomers 
death, and the parting of Amelia from George Os- 
borne, with the rest of her helpless sorrows. But to 
force tears by such forlorn situations is not Thack- 
eray's way, nor Fielding's. Dickens, on the other 
hand, habitually insists on death-bed scenes, and on 
the sufferings of the very young and very weak. 
Surely he did not feel much more for such tribulations 
than the men of genius who, as a rule, passed them 
by, as ''too deep for tears," or as too facile sources 
of the reader's emotion. But on such tribulations 
Dickens dwells long and fondly; he insists on and 
elaborates them with every pathetic artifice. My own 
taste — not, I hope, from hardness of heart — is averse 
to much in Smike, Little Nell, Little Dombey, Dora, 
and other small sufferers exposed to the crushing 
weight of destiny in various forms. Apparently the 
taste of the greatest writers has been in agreement with 
this, for they do not use the pathetic nearly so much, 
or so often, or so resolutely as Dickens. That he over- 
does it is plain from the contrast between the restraint 
he shows in describing, for example, the death of 

i6 



A GENERAL SURVEY 

Mrs. Dombey, and the elaborate effusion on the death 
of her son. But whether this view is right or wrong — 
whether his passages of pathos are too frequent, and 
too strenuously tearful, or not — certainly they pleased 
the public, and were a great element in his popularity. 
He was naturally ''strong upon the zveaker side;" his 
own emotions were powerfully stirred, and he always 
knew his public fairly well, and endeavored to satisfy 
its demands. But a later public is not precisely of the 
same taste, and discerns something theatrical in several 
of Dickens's pathetic passages. 

In "Pickwick," ''OHver Twist," and "Nickieby," 
Dickens had given fair samples of his quality. Time 
and reflection might make him take elaborate thought, 
not usually well-rewarded, about construction, but 
he was seldom likely to approve himself an accomplished 
story-teller, well worth reading for the story's sake. 
Emphasis was likely to be a sunken and dangerous 
reef in his progress. His high spirits could not remain 
at their level in 'Tickwick." His social satire might 
vary in its objects, but would not always be well in- 
formed and telling. In "Chuzzlewit" and "Dombey" 
he set himself abstract moral tasks : the illustration of 
a passion, selfishness, or pride ; and the passion, in his 
hands, was apt to become what used to be called a 
"humor." Possibly the public disliked this method, for 
"Chuzzlewit" was relatively unpopular, even after 
Dickens, anxious to oblige, removed Martin and Mark 
to Am.erica, an after-thought in a tale not begun on 
any definite plan. "Chuzzlewit" possessed, what 
"Dombey" all but lacks, the delightful vein of intel- 
lectual high spirits. Dickens simply revelled in Mr. 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

Pecksniff, and in what is perhaps his greatest creation 
Mrs. Gamp. That admirable lady is worthy of the 
creator of Dame Quickly, so masterly, so large, is the 
handling, so flowing in her contour; for Sairey, in her 
way, has "an outline,'' which Mr. Mantalini desider- 
ated in a person of quality. Near her, but not actually 
on her level, is the friendly Mr. Swiveller, whose 
Marchioness exhibits right pathos, which does not 
harrow, being bathed in humor. Mr. Swiveller, no 
doubt, is a raff, and would have been "proud of the 
title,'' but a raff of delicacy, with the kindest heart, 
and, in the matter of poetry, he finds in it all the con- 
solation and counsel which, in Mr. Matthew Arnold's 
opinion, make poetry an eligible substitute for religion. 
One thinks of those enchanted characters, down to 
Miss Wackles and Ouilp's boy, with an inexpressible 
affection. Our hearts are simply peopled with those 
creations, which gathered round Dickens, when he 
wrote, like amiable spirits, summoned by one sweep of a 
magician's wand. Could there be weariness in the braiqj^ 
which bubbled up, as it were, with these creatures of 
delight — with Mrs. Todgers, and Bailey junior, the 
Mantalinis, and Betsey Prig, and Hannibal Chollop. 
and the Literary Ladies, and Jefferson Brick? Weari- 
ness there was, we know — it shows itself in over- 
wrought eloquence, in the meaningless forced humor 
of the opening chapter of "Chuzzlewit ;" but it did 
not prevent the rising of whole clans of imperishable 
friends "at a wave of the bonnet" of Mrs. Gamp. 
"Dombey" was not so rich, by any means, in these in- 
dispensable supernumeraries. Mrs. Pipchin and Dr. 
Blimber are not of the author's very best. Mr. Toots 

i8 



A GENERAL SURVEY 

is more on that level. Captain Cuttle (I blush to con- 
fess) never at any time exhilarated me, Joey Bag- 
stock is no Major Pendennis; and the serious business 
with Carker, the confused part of Edith, leave me 
frigid — much more so than does Jonas Chuzzlewit, 
whose '^business,'' after the murder, seems to myself 
to be realized with great power. 

Elsewhere I have ventured to point out that, in my 
opinion, Edith had already thrown her bonnet over the 
windmills, with Mr. Carker, before her elopement. 
But Dickens later invented the scene of Mr. Carker's 
disappointment, while leaving in the passage to which 
I refer. In a letter to Mr. Forster he says, "Note 
from Jeffrey this morning, who won't believe (posi- 
tively refused) that Edith is Carker's mistress. What 
do you think of a kind of inverted Maid's Tragedy, 
and a tremendous scene of her undeceiving Carker, 
and giving him to know that she never meant that?" 
Then what did Dickens mean when, after a stolen mid- 
night interview with Carker, Edith bids Florence not 
to come near her, in accents of hysterical guiltiness? 
Jeffrey clearly thought that he was expected to regard 
Mrs. Dombey as a fallen angel, and if a mystification 
was deliberately intended, it was a mistake in art. 
If there was a change of plan, and an oversight in 
leaving what ought to have been removed, we must 
blame the unhappy system of publishing in numbers, 
and beginning with only the most shadowy notion of 
what was to follow. Dickens never thought of con- 
densing and re-casting, when once his tale of numbers 
was told; hence the constructive imperfections, and 
languid longueurs which lend a handle to hostile criti- 

19 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

cism. We have no Dickens, but we have hundreds of 
writers who, with conscious rectitude, avoid his tech- 
nical errors, and glory in the motto that fiction is now 
a finer art. It is better charpente, but where is the es- 
sential thing, the creative power? 

That power, blowing where it listeth, came back in 
fullest measure with "David Copperfield," which, no 
doubt, is Dickens's masterpiece as a novel, "Pickwick,'* 
as has been said, being no novel, but simply an isolated 
phenomenon. I have elsewhere observed that, nar- 
rating as Copperfield or as Pip, Dickens could noti 
keep on moralizing and satirizing, as when he is him-i 
self the narrator. This was to him a great advantage ; 
his unessential reflections on all things were subordi- 
nated. They never won an excuse by a style like that 
of Thackeray or Fielding. Again, plot was not much 
needed in the early part of an autobiography. Pathos 
was subdued and restrained, clarified and strengthened, 
in the sorrows of Copperfield's mother. The hero, in 
childhood, v/as so much Dickens himself, that he was 
absolutely acquainted with his matter; and the "od- 
dities" of a boy of genius, like the strange nascent ideas 
of Pip, were memories rather than inventions. Mr. 
Micawber, too, was a glorified reminiscence. One does 
not know where Dickens got Mr. Creakle and his 
school; his own school-days seemed to have yielded 
no materials. Nor do w^e know anything in his boy- 
hood to suggest that admirable passage of David's 
love for Steerforth, which every one who has had a 
Steerforth of his own — tall, handsome, strong, clever, 
lazy — recognizes with tenderness for the truth. Dick- 
ens was never the big, learned, pugilistic school-boy 

20 



A GENERAL SURVEY 

who fought the butcher's lad, and made love to Miss 
Larkins. He must have divined all that part of life; 
while the warehouse and the reporter's existence, and 
the legal part, were given by experience. The flight 
to Dover is one of the most m.asterly pieces of narra- 
tive to which Dickens ever set his hand. He only 
stoops his wing w^hen he comes to the intrigue, when 
the inevitable roles of Little Em'ly and the seductive 
Steerforth are developed; when Uriah takes to plot- 
ting, and Mr. Micawber to detective work. The love- 
aiiair with Dora, as we know, is a reminiscence of a 
passion to whose mem.ory, and inspirer, Dickens might 
later have been more chivalrous. If everybody, almost, 
is made happy (in w^ays not very plausible) at the 
close, we have again to plead the example of Shake- 
speare. Dickens desires to please, not to show (what 
we know without being told) how the nature of things 
would have disposed of Mr. Micawber. 

*'Copperfield," in brief, deserves the enthusiastic 
praises of Thackeray, a man who took a buoyant de- 
light in praising. Witness his letter to Tennyson on 
the ''Idylls of the King." He had ever been the eager 
advocate of Dickens, and not many even of Thackeray's 
minor papers are more amusing than his account of 
''Nicholas Nickleby" as dramatized in Paris, and his 
reply, on Dickens's side, to the egregious criticism of 
Jules Janin. Every one knows that Dickens and 
Thackeray were severed by an unworthy cause, and 
it is probably not less well known that Thackeray made 
the first advances to reconciliation, and "could not bear 
not to be friends." 

The entire charm of "Copperfield" was never recap- 

21 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

tured by Dickens. In "Bleak House" he fell back into 
didacticism — an attack on the Court of Chancery. The 
attack may have been "richly deserved/' but a novel 
is not a place in which severe argument and exact col- 
lection of facts are possible. Chancery lent a grubby 
atmosphere, a gloom. The supposed unconscious Es- 
ther was generally reckoned artificial; spontaneous 
combustion was hardly a theme for romance (though 
handled with undeniable vigor and lurid effect) ; while 
Skimpole caused a natural strife with Leigh Hunt. 
Dickens assuredly intended no harm; he thought that 
his original was gaze, veiled, indiscoverable ; but un- 
luckily, he hit not only Hunt's "evaporated" geniality 
of manner, but a blot in his character. The scorpion, 
in old days, had not bitten Hunt more poignantly than 
Dickens inadvertently did. He thought that he had 
removed all ground of quarrel, and it is probable that 
he suffered more than Hunt did from the occurrence. 
It is a warning to novelists against a constant tempta- 
tion, and one rather pities than blames Dickens for an 
isolated mistake of this kind. It was not of a nature 
to militate against the popularity of his book, which 
was great. The plot, at last, zvas a plot, and held well 
together. Jo and the Snagsbys, Chadband, the law- 
yer's clerks, the mysterious old Krook, Skimpole him- 
self, Tulkinghom, Sergeant Bucket (who has so large 
a progeny in later fiction), were all felt to be pathetic 
or comic, and in their own way, Dickens's way, to be 
natural. Sir Leicester and Lady Dedlock were well 
meant, rather than successful. The artificial atmos- 
phere of a not too well informed irony surrounds their 
society; and, in the lady's death, melodrama has its 



A GENERAL SURVEY 

full swing. The Turveydrops and the far-sighted 
lady who was already "grabbing'' Borrioboola, 
with her neglected household, make up, in a great de- 
gree, for the blemishes. In fact, only stern duty com- 
pels a critic at any time to note blemishes in 
books so full of the richest and most varied 
entertainment. The drawbacks, the defects of 
knowledge, the artificiality of tone, the longueurs, the 
melodrama, are so conspicuous, that it is all but super- 
fluous to remark on them. The wise, who ''read for 
human pleasure," will be a little blind to the faults, and 
concentrate their attention on the merits. Moreover, 
the days are past when the faults (as usually happens 
in imitations) were sedulously copied by scores of 
writers. Dickens is anything but impeccable ; not 
infrequently he is left for a long time uninspired, or 
ill inspired. We cannot all be Miss Austens, and Dick- 
ens, as a novelist by profession, had no more Miss 
Austen's leisure, than he had her delicate instinct of 
perfection, and her consciousness of her limitations. 
He felt bound to work in his calling, like any other 
professional man, and, as his profession was an art, 
he often worked invita Minerva, with the inevitable 
results. For a man can labor at a brief, or among 
his patients, when he does not feel any "subliminal up- 
rush" of a legal or medical kind. But something of 
that mystic nature is required for writings of genius ; 
and the something will not always come to call. There 
must be barren deserts in the work of the greatest 
novelist by profession. 

Such a Sahara is "Little Dorrit." Mr. Gissing can 
praise it, in a commendable spirit of loyalty, just as 

23 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

another authority has praised ''Count Robert of Paris/' 
But the conduct of "Little Dorrit" is so bad, the in- 
terests so many, and, often, so weak, and so apt to 
interfere with and obscure each other, that the oases 
on which Mr. Gissing broods fondly cannot reconcile 
me to the book. I must be honest as well as loyal, and 
must admit that I never read "Little Dorrit'' "for hu- 
man pleasure," while read as a matter of duty it 
wearies me as much as any book that I ever perused. 
Blackwood, in the old manner, called the story 
"twaddle;'' it is not all twaddle, by any means. Mer- 
dle is good, old Dorrit deserves Mr. Gissing's enthusi- 
asm, Flora almost makes us pardon her origin, the 
Patriarch is excellent; but the book fatigues. 

"The Tale of Two Cities" is the best thing that 
could be expected of Dickens when his humor was 
veiled, and he was working at serious historical melo- 
drama. It is hardly "the true Dickens," and is best 
liked by many who like the true Dickens least. In 
"Great Expectations" he was his best self again, rem- 
iniscent, autobiographic, humorous, and furnished with 
perhaps the best of his plots, while his canvas was lim- 
ited. In "Our Mutual Friend" he relapsed into his out- 
v/orn satire, the stage diction out of place, the needless 
and voulu phantastic. Then came the full and unendur- 
able stress of public readings, a collapse in health, and 
the incomplete "Mystery of Edwin Drood." Fatigue de- 
clared itself in the very choice of a murder and a mys- 
tery, in some terrible puns, in the unprecedented col- 
loquial style of too many of the characters. Rosa, 
beginning in the Dolly Varden manner, was improv- 
ing. The opium-scenes were carefully worked up 



A GENERAL SURVEY 

(compare Mr. Kipling's similar study, "The Gate of 
the Hundred Sorrows''), but one could not care much 
for Edwin Drood, or the dusky twins, and his Mys- 
tery was impenetrable. If his body was annihilated in 
in a lime-heap by Jasper, while his ring bore witness 
to the crime, why is Edwin standing in the full light 
of a dark lantern on the river? Who is Datchery? 
Edwin in a grey wig? If Jasper, beguiled by a 
'*dwawm" of opium, did not kill Edwin, but some- 
body else, how did Edwin's ring get into the quick- 
lime? ''The person murdered was to be identified," 
says Mr. Forster. But was that person Edwin? And 
if, so, where is the mystery? Crisparkle was to marry 
Miss Landless, and we are sorry for Crisparkle. Ne- 
ville was to come to grief in helping Tartar to collar 
Jasper. But, again, what is Edwin doing in the light 
of the dark lantern on the cover? He is clearly not a 
ghost, but an incarnate Edwin. The pen dropped 
from a dying hand, and the whole of the English- 
speaking race Avas startled and saddened by the news 
of the death of their friend and benefactor. No man, 
for fort)'' years, had diffused so much delight, had 
given so much sterling happiness. How glorious is 
the record, how far beyond envy the achievement, how 
frivolous do our deductions and carpings appear, when 
set beside the undeniable fact! Shakespeare, Field- 
ing, Dr. Johnson, Burns, Scott, and Dickens, — these, 
when we think of authors who have made men glad, 
who have made life joyful in England, are the names. 
They are with Homer and Aristophanes, Moliere, 
Rabelais, and Cervantes; they are heroes and bene- 
factors. 



25 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

We have spoken of Dickens as a writer most im- 
perfectly, for the bewildering multitude of his creations 
of character cannot be reduced to a summary. His 
view and knowledge of life included a most intimate 
acquaintance with childhood and boyhood — from the 
young of the Trotty Veck to the diabolical "Deputy f' 
from that truly sympathetic young victim of Borrio- 
boola-Gha, wdio whacked his rescuers, to Trabb's boy, 
"a serpent," and Traddles, and the heroes of "Holiday 
Romance," with, of course, the "innerly bairns," as the 
Scots say, Copperfield and Pip. In fact, no boy so 
much as proves himself "an enemy to joy" by a pierc- 
ing whoop, but he is an individual recognizable young 
savage, while Mr. Charles Bates and the Dodger are 
enshrined in our most intimate affection. Now, Shake- 
speare and Scott are not great at boys, as any one will 
find if he tries to recall the boys in the plays and Wav- 
erley Novels. On the other hand, Thackeray's boys 
are as numerous and excellent, in their way, as the 
boys of Dickens. "A soaring human boy" is the de- 
light of the contemplative man. His contempt for you 
(but thinly veiled), his frankness, his loyalty, his grati- 
tude (he never, never forgets a tip), his hero-worship, 
his pleasing exterior, and the utter devilishness of the 
creature, his rampagiousness, his inventiveness in mis- 
chief, the gravity of his most absurd social laws atiH 
taboos, the primitiveness of the brat, — all these ami- 
able qualities endear boys to their so despised and 
suffering seniors. Dickens and Thackeray were good 
friends to boys, and one remembers fondly the hours 
which they stole for him from studies infinitely less 
important, and the "tips" in the way of endless laugh- 

26 



A GENERAL SURVEY 

ter and diversion which they provided for his green 
unknowing youth. They were — I hope they still are — 
the spiritual uncles of British boyhood ; we know how 
Mr. Winkle consoled certain troubled hours of Mr. 
Harry (or Scud) East's. 

In girls, doubtless, Dickens was not so learned, and 
it is superfluous to refer to his heroines. We do not 
fall in love with any one of them, as we do with 
Beatrix Esmond, Diana Vernon, Catherine Seton, and 
many others. Dickens's most successful women are 
Mrs. Gamp, Mrs. Nickleby; his large collection of 
shrews; Aunt Trotwood, Flora, Dora, and so forth. 
Women say that Thackeray was hard on them, but 
really Thackeray drew much more winsome women 
(Sairey excepted) than Dickens. The lawyers of 
the latter author, his cads, his crowd, are all beyond 
praise, like his cabotins, and his strollers of every de- 
scription. Pendennis, Warrington, Lord Kew, were 
as much out of his way as Quilp, or old John Willet, 
was out of Thackeray's. He could certainly draw a 
gentleman, but as soon as the gentleman (by no fault 
of his own) was so in the heraldic sense, Dickens be- 
came uneasy, bristled up, felt that he ought to be satir- 
ical. I do not mean, of course, that he felt thus in the 
intercourse of life, but he did when he had a pen in his 
hand. It was one of his limitations. He had not man\- 
limitations in human nature. He had none of the ordi- 
nary English contempt and distrust of foreigners. 
Of course, he was not a success in dealing with quite 
ordinary people — say Miss Austen's people — because 
liis genius lay in detecting the extraordinary, and when 
t was not there he invented it. Thus he is now called 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

an Idealist, which with some critics means the Ac- 
cursed Thing. No artist, let him try as he will, can 
help being an idealist ; by trying very hard he may be- 
come an idealist of the bad, and call himself a ''natur- 
alist/' All these terms of jargon are empty and otiose. 
It does not matter what a man calls himself; his ''es- 
thetic principles'' do not matter. Homer had none, 
nor probably had Shakespeare ; now we hear of them, 
as they were half the battle, and things highly precious. 
Nothing matters but the result, the work done, and 
that depends on a man's temperament and genius. To 
these he accommodates his "esthetic principles," if he 
keeps such things, and does just what God gave him 
the power of doing. Wordsworth evolved prefaces 
on his principles; Scott did not, and each man wrote 
precisely what he felt disposed to write, Wordsworth 
extracting his principles out of his practice. For these 
reasons it is waste of time to discuss Dickens as an 
idealist, or a realist, or the like. He worked pretty 
consistently with the Aristotelian theory of art, of 
which, perhaps, he had never heard, except in "Tom 
Jones." His perpetual "moral purpose," of course, 
Avas un- Aristotelian, but had he known this he would 
not have altered his practice. 

Of Dickens the man there is little occasion to speak, 
as we shall never know more of him, scarcely, than all 
the world may read in Mr. Forster's "Life." We see 
him brave, kind, generous, vivacious, capable of a pas- 
sion which death and time warred against in vain. We 
see his hatred of cruelty, oppression, and indifference ; 
we see that knowledge and deep thought, political or 
literary, were not his strong points. He was "the 



A GENERAL SURVEY 

pleasantest of companions," with whom men ''forgot 
that he had ever written anything/' To myself, I own, 
his letters, and what is told of his social qualities, at- 
test rather hilarity and buoyancy than that soft all- 
embracing humor which plays round the letters of 
Lamb, of Scott, and of Thackeray. Mr. Dickens took 
himself and his works with a consuming seriousness 
and earnestness not to be remarked in these other 
authors. Mr. Forster speaks of ''the intensity and 
tenacity with which he recognized, realized, contem- 
plated, cultivated, and thoroughly enjoyed his own in- 
dividuality." That is very evident, and I confess that 
to be thus self-centred and self-absorbed seems to me 
to have prevented Dickens from being, as a man, such 
a humorist as he is with pen and ink before him. His 
humor is rather a kind of wit (often, at least), based 
on enjoyment of observation of incongruities, than 
that quality of love, of melancholy, of contemplation, 
of detachment, of sense of our own littleness, which 
make what one understands by "humor." Thus, in his 
high moods and hilarious hours, he seems not so much 
to have been humorous as joyous and convivial. Dick- 
ens was not self -detached, was not contemplative, had 
none of the sense of littleness which, in contrast with 
our infinite importance (to ourselves), and combined 
with the kindness of which he was full, make the 
hum.orist in essence. I do not mean any more than 
Mr. Forster means, that Dickens was "conceited." 
Not that it would matter much if he was. 

It is said of his face, in youth, that "light and mo- 
tion flashed from every part of it. It was as if made 
of steel," according to Mrs. Carlyle. Now, one feels, 

2g 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

in Dickens's letters, the presence of a kind of polished 
hardness somewhere in his character ; a wilfulness that 
went with his extraordinary restless energy and desire 
to have his own way, and that at once. In this impres- 
sion, vague and possibly erroneous, one finds, perhaps, 
the secret of that want of satisfaction, of complete 
sympathy, which Mr. Forster's "Life" left in the minds 
of many readers. Dickens was not, somehow, exactly 
the man we had expected; there was a want some- 
where. But his friends, who knew him, certainty seem 
to have felt nothing of all this; and the fault may be 
W7th us, or with the biographer. Carlyle found in 
Dickens "a man most cordial, sincere, clear-sighted, 
quietly decisive, just, and loving.'' This was in a letter 
of condolence. "He is a good creature, too," said the 
sage, on an ordinary occasion; "he is a fine little fel- 
low," on another. To pass Mr. Carlyle's examination, 
to go by that philosopher's tub unbitten, was a distinc- 
tion indeed. But Dickens and Lockhart passed: they 
were accepted. Hence it may be inferred that there 
was nothing, or next to nothing, to be seriously said 
against them. In a famous essay of Hazlitt's we hear 
how he. Lamb, and others discoursed of the illustrious 
dead whom they wished, for once, to meet on this side 
of the River. Thinking of Dickens, I feel that there 
are a few others whom I more passionately desire "^o 
meet, whom "not having seen, I love," more than Dick- 
ens, among the great writers of the recent past. He 
who sleeps in Dryburgh; he to whose room came 
Athos, Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan with their 
noiseless swagger, — these, I admit, are dearer to my 
heart than even the beloved author of "Pickwick." 

3© 



A GENERAL SURVEY 

Their tastes, their ideas, their humor, their ways, are 
somehow kindlier to me. Prejudice, no doubt, of edu- 
cation, country, and training, accounts for this pref- 
erence (purely sentimental) ; but one can well believe 
that the votes of English readers in such a meeting as 
Hazlitt describes, would, for the more part, be for 
Dickens. He has bequeathed to us an almost insup- 
portable burden of gratitude, and while I have played 
the Devil's Advocate, when the part seemed called for, 
in this study, it has been contrecoeur, and from an odd 
sense of duty which seemed half undutiful. 



31 



II 

THE BOYHOOD OF DICKENS* 

Charles Dickens was born at Landport in Port- 
sea, on February 7, 1812. His father was a clerk in 
the Navy Pay-office, and was temporarily on duty in 
the neighborhood. Very soon after the birth of Charles 
Dickens, however, the family moved for a short period 
to Norfolk Street, Bloomsbury, and then for a long 
period to Chatham, which thus became the real home, 
and for all serious purposes, the native place of Dick- 
ens. The whole story of his life moves like a Cen- 
terbury pilgrimage along the great roads of Kent. 

John Dickens, his father, was, as stated, a clerk, 
but such mere terms of trade tell us little of the tone 
or status of a family. Browning's father (to take an 
instance at random) would also be described as a clerk 
and a man of the middle class ; but the Browning fam- 
ily and the Dickens family have the color of two dif- 
ferent civilizations. The difference cannot be con- 
veyed merely by saying that Brov/ning stood many 
strata above Dickens. It must also be conveyed that 
Browning belonged to that section of the middle class 
which tends (in the small social sense) to rise; the 

* From "Charles Dickens, a Critical Study,'* by G. K. 
Chesterton. Dodd, Mead & Company. 

32 



THE BOYHOOD OF DICKENS 

Dickenses to that section which tends in the same sense 
to fall. If Browning had not been a poet, he would 
have been a better clerk than his father, and his son 
probably a better and richer clerk than he. But if 
they had not been lifted in the air by the enormous 
accident of a man of genius, the Dickenses, I fancv 
would have appeared in poorer and poorer places, as 
inventory clerks, as caretakers, as addressers of en- 
velopes, until they melted into the masses of the poor. 
Yet at the time of Dickens's birth and childhood 
this weakness in their worldly destiny was in no way 
apparent; especially it was not apparent to the little 
Charles himself. He was born and grew up in a par- 
adise of small prosperity. He fell into the family, 
so to speak, during one of its comfortable periods 
and he never in those early days thought of himself 
as anything but as a comfortable middle-class child, 
the son of a comfortable middle-class man. The 
father whom he found provided for him, was one 
from whom comfort drew forth his most pleasant and 
reassuring qualities, though not perhaps his most in- 
teresting and peculiar. John Dickens seemed, most 
probably, a hearty and kindly character, a little florid 
of speech, a little careless of duty in som.e details, nota- 
bly in the detail of education. His neglect of his son's 
mental training in later and more trying times was a 
piece of unconscious selfishness which remained a little 
acrimoniously in his son's mind through life. But even 
in his earlier and easier period what records there are 
of John Dickens give out the air of somewhat idle and 
irresponsible fatherhood. He exhibited towards his 
son that contradiction in conduct which is alwavs 

33 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

shown by the too thoughtless parent to the too thought- 
ful child. He contrived at once to neglect his mind, 
and also to over-stimulate it. 

There are many recorded tales and traits of the 
author's infancy, but one small fact seems to me more 
than any other to strike the note and give the key to 
his whole strange character. His father found it 
more amusing to be an audience than to be an instruc- 
tor; and instead of giving the child intellectual pleas- 
ure, called upon him, almost before he was out of petti- 
coats, to provide it. Some of the earliest glimpses Ave 
have of Charles Dickens show him to us perched on 
some chair or table singing comic songs in an atmos- 
phere of perpetual applause. So, almost as soon as he 
can toddle, he steps into the glare of the footlights. 
He never stepped out of it until he died. He 
was a good man, as men go in this bewildering world 
of ours, brave, transparent, tender-hearted, scrupu- 
lously independent and honorable; he was not a man 
whose weaknesses should be spoken of without some 
delicacy and doubt. But there did mingle with his 
merits all his life this theatrical quality, this atmos- 
phere of being shown off — a sort of hilarious self- 
consciousness. His literary life was a triumphal pro- 
cession; he died drunken with glory. And behind all 
this nine years' wonder that filled the world, behind 
his gigantic tours and his ten thousand editions, the 
crowded lectures and the crashing brass, behind all 
the thing we really see is the flushed face of a little 
boy singing music-hall songs to a circle of aunts and 
uncles. And this precocious pleasure explains much, 
too, in the moral way. Dickens had all his life the 

34 



THE BOYHOOD OF DICKENS 

faults of the little boy who is kept up too late at night. 
The boy in such a case exhibits a psychological para- 
dox; he is a little too irritable because he is a little 
too happy. Dickens was always a little too irrita- 
ble because he was a little too happy. Like 
the over-wrought child in society, he was splen- 
didly sociable, and yet suddenly quarrelsome. 
In all the practical relations of his life he was 
what the child is in the last hours of an evening 
party, genuinely delighted, genuinely delightful, genu- 
inely affectionate and happy, and yet in some strange 
way fundamentally exasperated and dangerously close 
to tears. 

There was another touch about the boy which made 
his case more peculiar, and perhaps his intelligence 
more fervid ; the touch of ill-health. It could not be 
called more than a touch, for he suffered from no 
formidable malady and could always through life en- 
dure a great degree of exertion even if it was only the 
exertion of walking violently all night. Still the streak 
of sickness was sufficient to take him out of the com- 
mon unconscious life of the community of boys; and 
for good or evil that withdrawal is always a matter of 
deadly importance to the mind. He was thrown back 
perpetually upon the pleasures of the intelligence, and 
these began to burn in his head like a pent and painful 
furnace. In his own unvarjdng vivid way he has de- 
scribed how he crawled up into an unconsidered garret, 
and there found, in a dusty heap, the undying litera- 
ture of England. The books he mentions chiefly are 
"Humphrey Clinker" and 'Tom Jones." When he 
opened those two books in the garret he caught hold 

35 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

of the only past with which he is at all connected, the 
great comic writers of England of whom he was dis~ 
tined to be the last. 

It must be remembered (as I have suggested be- 
fore) that there was something about the county in 
which he lived, and the great roads along which he 
traveled that sympathized with and stimulated his 
pleasure in this old picaresque literature. Tlie groups 
that came along the road, that passed through his 
town and out of it, Vv^ere of the motley laughable 
type that tumbled into ditches or beat down the doors 
of taverns under the escort of Smollett and Fielding. 
In our time the main roads of Kent have upon them 
very often a perpetual procession of tramps and tink- 
ers unknown on the quiet hills of Sussex; and it may 
have been so also in Dickens's boyhood. In his neigh- 
borhood were definite memorials of yet older and yet 
greater English comedy. From the height of Gad's- 
hill at which he stared unceasingly there looked down 
upon liim the monstrous ghost of Falstaff, Falstaiff 
who might well have been the spiritual father of all 
Dickens's adorable knaves, Falstaff the great mountain 
of English laughter and English sentimentalism, the 
great, healthy, humane English humbug, not to be 
matched among the nations. 

At this eminence of Gad's-hill Dickens used to stare 
even as a boy with the steady purpose of some day 
making it his own. It is characteristic of the consist- 
ency which underlies the superficially erratic career 
of Dickens that he actually did live to make it his own. 
The truth is that he was a precocious child, precocious 
not only on the more poetical but on the more prosaic 

36 



THE BOYHOOD OF DICKENS 

side of life. He was ambitious as well as enthusiastic. 
No one can ever know what visions they were that 
crowded into the head of the clever little brat as he ran 
about the streets of Chatham or stood glowering at 
Gad's-hill. But I think that quite mundane visions 
had a very considerable share in the matter. He 
longed to go to school (a strange wish), to go to col- 
lege, to make a name, nor did he merely aspire to these 
things ; the great number of them he also expected. He 
regarded himself as a child of good position just about 
to enter on a life of good luck. He thought his home 
and family a very good spring-board or jumping-off 
place from which to fling himself to the positions which 
he desired to reach. And almost as he was about to 
spring the whole structure broke under him, and he 
and all that belonged to him disappeared into a dark- 
ness far below. 

Everything had been struck down as with the finality 
of a thunder-bolt. His lordly father was a bankrupt 
and in the Marshalsea prison. His mother v/as in a 
mean home in the north of London, wildly proclaiming 
herself the principal of a girl's school, a girFs school to 
which nobody would go. And he him-self, the conqueror 
of the world and the prospective purchaser of Gad's- 
hill, passed some distracted and bewildering days in 
pawning the household necessities to Fagins in foul 
shops, and then found himself somehow or other one of 
a row of ragged boys in a great dreary factory, pasting 
the same kinds of labels on to the same kinds of 
blacking bottles from morning till night. 

Although it seemed sudden enough to him, the dis- 
integration had, as a matter of fact, of course, been 

37 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

going on for a long time. He had only heard from his 
father dark and melodramatic allusions to a ''deed*' 
which, from the way it was mentioned, might have 
been a claim to the crown or a compact with the devil, 
but which was in truth an unsuccessful documentary 
attempt on the part of John Dickens to come to a com- 
position with his creditors. And now, in the lurid light 
of his sunset, the character of John Dickens began to 
take on those purple colors which have made him un- 
der another name absurd and immortal. It required 
a tragedy to bring out the man's comedy. So long as 
John Dickens was in easy circumstances, he seemed 
only an easy man, a little long and luxuriant in his 
phrases, a little careless in his business routine. He 
seemed only a wordy man, who lived on bread and 
beef like his neighbors; but as bread and beef were 
successively taken away from him, it was discovered 
that he lived on words. For him to be involved in 
a calamity only meant to be cast for the first part in a 
tragedy. For him blank ruin was only a subject for 
blank A'-erse. Henceforth we feel scarcely inclined to 
call him John Dickens at all: v/e feel inclined to call 
him by the name through which his son celebrated 
thi- preposterous and sublime victory of the human 
spirit over circumstances. Dickens, in ''David Cop- 
perneld," called him Wilkins Micawber. In his per- 
sonal correspondence he called him the Prodigal Father. 
Young Charles had been hurriedly flung into the fac- 
tory by the m.ore or less careless good-nature of James 
Laniert, a relation of his mother's ; it was a blacking 
factory, supposed to be run as a rival to Warren's by 
aiiollier and "originar' Warren, both practically con- 

i8 



THE BOYHOOD OF DICKENS 

ducted by another of the Lamerts. It was situated near 
Hunger ford Market. Dickens worked there, drearily, 
like one stunned with disappointment. To a child exces- 
sively egotistical, the coarseness of the whole thing — 
the work, the rooms, the boys, the language — was a sort 
of bestial nightmare. Not only did he scarcely speak 
of it then, but he scarcely spoke of it afterwards. 
Years later, in the fulness of his fame, he heard from 
Forster that a man had spoken of knowing him. On 
hearing the name, he somewhat curtly acknowledged 
it, and spoke of having seen the man once. Forster, 
in his innocence, answered that the man said he had 
seen Dickens many times in a factory by Hungerford 
Market. Dickens was suddenly struck with a long and 
extraordinary silence. Then he invited Forster, as his 
best friend, to a particular interview, and, with ever)' 
appearance of difficulty and distress, told him the whole 
story for the first and the last time. A long while 
after that he told the world some part of the matter in 
the account of Murdstone and Grinby's in "David Cop- 
perfield." He never spoke of the whole experience ex- 
cept once or twice, and he never spoke of it otherwise 
than as a man might speak of hell. 

It need not be suggested, I think, that this agony in 
the child was exaggerated by the man. It is true that 
he was not incapable of the vice of exaggeration, if it 
be a vice. There was about him much vanity and a cer- 
tain virulence in his version of many things. Upon the 
whole, indeed, it would hardly be too much to say that 
he would have exaggerated any sorrow he talked about. 
But this was a sorrow with a very strange position in 
Dickens's life; it was a sorrow he did not talk about. 

39 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

Upon this particular dark spot he kept a sort of deadly 
silence for twenty years. An accident revealed part 
of the truth to the dearest of all his friends. He then 
told the whole truth to the dearest of all his friends. 
He never told anybody else. I do not think that this 
arose from any social sense of disgrace; if he had it 
slightly at the time, he was far too self-satisfied a man 
to have taken it seriously in after life. I really think 
that his pain at this time was so real and ugly that the 
thought of it filled him with that sort of impersonal 
but unbearable shame with which we are filled, for 
instance, by the notion of physical torture, of something 
that humiliates humanity. He felt that such agony was 
something obscene. Moreover there are two other 
good reasons for thinking that his sense of hopeless- 
ness was very genuine. First of all, this starless out- 
look is common in the calamities of boyhood. The bit- 
terness of boyish distress does not lie in the fact that 
they are large ; it lies in the fact that we do not know 
that they are small. About any early disaster there is 
a dreadful finality; a lost child can suffer like a lost 
soul. 

It is currently said that hope goes with youth, and 
lends to youth its wings of a butterfly; but I fancy 
that hope is the last gift given to man, and the only 
gift not given to youth. Youth is preeminently the 
period in which a man can be lyric, fanatical, poetic; 
but youth is the period in which a man can be hopeless. 
The end of every episode is the end of the world. 
But the power of hoping through everything, the 
knowledge that the soul survives its adventures, that 
great inspiration comes to the middle-aged; God has 

40 



THE BOYHOOD OF DICKENS 

kept that good wine until now. It is from the backs 
of the elderly gentlemen that the wings of the butter- 
fly should burst. There is nothing that so much mys- 
tifies the young as the consistent frivolity of the old. 
They have discovered their indestructibility. They 
are in their second and clearer childhood, and there 
is a meaning in the merriment of their eyes. They 
have seen the end of the End of the World. 

First, then, the desolate finality of Dickens's child- 
ish mood makes me think it was a real one. And there 
is another thing to be remembered. Dickens was not 
a saintly child after the style of Little Dorrit or Little 
Nell. He had not, at this time at any rate, set his heart 
wholly upon higher things, even upon things such as 
personal tenderness or loyalty. He had been, and was, 
unless I am every much mistaken, sincerely, stub 
bornly, bitterly ambitious. He had, I fancy, a fairly 
clear idea previous to the downfall of all his family's 
hopes of what he wanted to do in the world, and of 
the mark that he meant to make there. In no dis- 
honorable sense, but still in a definite sense he might, 
in early life, be called worldly ; and the children of this 
w^orld are in their generation infinitely more sensitive 
than the children of light. A saint after repentance 
will forgive himself for a sin; a man about town 
will never forgive himself for a faux pas. There are 
ways of getting absolved for murder; there are no 
w^ays of getting absolved for upsetting the soup. This 
thin-skinned quality in all very mundane people is a 
thing too little remembered ; and it must not be whollv 
forgotten in connection with a clever, restless lad who 
dreamed of a destiny. That part of his distress which 

41 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

concerned himself and his social standing was among 
the other parts of it the least noble ; but perhaps it was 
the most painful. For pride is not only (as the modern 
world fails to understand) a sin to be condemned: it 
is also (as it understands even less) a weakness to be 
very much commiserated. A very vitalizing touch is 
given in one of his ow^n reminiscences. His most un- 
endurable moment did not come in any bullying in the 
factory or any famine in the streets. It came when he 
went to see his sister Fanny take a prize at the Royal 
Academy of Music. "I could not bear to think of 
myself — beyond the reach of all such honorable emu- 
lation and success. The tears ran down my face. I 
felt as if my heart were rent. I prayed when I went 
to bed that night to be lifted out of the humiliation 
and neglect in which I w^as. I never had suffered so 
much before. There was no envy in this." I do not 
think that there was, though the poor little wretch 
could hardly have been blamed if there had been. 
There was only a furious sense of frustration; a 
spirit like a wild beast in a cage. It was only a small 
matter in the external and obvious sense: it was onlv 
Dickens prevented from being Dickens. 

If we put these facts together, that the tragedy 
seemed final, and that the tragedy was concerned with 
the supersensitive matters of the ego and the gentle- 
man, I think we can imagine a pretty genuine case of 
internal depression. And when we add to the case of 
the internal depression the case of the external oppres- 
sion, the case of the material circumstances by which 
he was surrounded, we have reached a sort of midnight. 
All day he worked on insufficient food at a factory. It 

4^ 



THE BOYHOOD OF DICKENS 

is sufficient to say that it afterwards appeared in his 
works as Murdstone and Grinby's. At night he re- 
turned disconsolately to a lodging-house for such lads, 
kept by an old lady. It is sufficient to say that she ap- 
peared afterwards as Mrs. Pipchin. Once a week only 
he saw anybody for whom he cared a straw ; and that 
was when he went to the Marshalsea prison, and that 
gave his juvenile pride, half "manly and half snobbish, 
bitter annoyance of another kind. Add to this, finally, 
that physically he was always very weak 'and never 
very well. Once he was struck down in the middle 
of his work with sudden bodily pain. The boy who 
worked next to him, a coarse and heavy lad named 
Bob Fagin, who had often attacked Dickens on the not 
unreasonable ground of his being a "gentleman/' sud- 
denly showed that enduring sanity of compassion 
which Dickens was destined to show so often in the 
characters of the common and unclean. Fagin made 
a bed for his sick companion out of the straw in the 
workroom., and filled empty blacking bottles with hot 
water all day. When the evening came, and Dickens 
was somewhat recovered, Bob Fagin insisted on es- 
corting the boy home to his father. The situation 
was as poignant as a sort of tragic farce. Fagin in 
his wooden-headed chivalry would have died in order 
to take Dickens to his family; Dickens in his bitter 
gentility would have died rather than let Fagin know 
that his family were in the Marshalsea. So these two 
young idiots tramped the tedious streets, both stubborn, 
both sufTering for an idea. The advantage certainly 
was with Fagin, who was suffering for a Christian com- 
passion, while Dickens was suflFering for a pagan pride. 

43 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

At last Dickens flung off his friend with desperate fare- 
well and thanks, and dashed up the steps of a strange 
house on the Surrey side. He knocked and rang as Bob 
Fagin, his benefactor and his incubus, disappeared 
round the corner. And when the servant came to open 
the door, he asked, apparently with gravity, whether 
Robert Fagin lived there. It is a strange touch. The 
immortal Dickens woke in him for an instant in that last 
wild joke of that weary evening. Next morning, how- 
ever, he was again well enough to make himself ill 
again, and the wheels of the great factory went on. 
They manufactured a number of bottles of Warren's 
Blacking, and in the course of the process they manu- 
factured also the greatest optimist of the nineteenth 
century. 

This boy who dropped down groaning at his work, 
who was hungry four or five times a week, whose best 
feelings and worst feelings were alike flayed alive, was 
the man on whom two generations of comf citable 
critics had visited the complaint that his view of life 
was too rosy to be anything but unreal. Afterwards, 
and in its proper place, I shall speak of what is called 
the optimism of Dickens, and of whether it was really 
too cheerful or too smooth. But this boyhood of his 
may be recorded now as a mere fact. If he was too 
happy, this was where he learnt it. If his school of 
thought was a vulgar optimism, this is where he went 
to school. If he learnt to whitewash the universe, it 
was in a blacking factorj'- that he learnt it. 

As a fact, there is no shred of evidence to show that 
those who have sad experiences tend to have a sad 
philosophy. There are numberless points upon which 

44 



THE BOYHOOD OF DICKENS 

Dickens is spiritually at one with the poor, that is, 
with the great mass of mankind- But there is no point 
in which he is more perfectly at one with them than in 
showing that there is no kind of connection between 
a man being unhappy and a man being pessimistic. 
Sorrow and pessimism are indeed, in a sense, opposite 
things, since sorrow is founded on the value of some- 
thing, and pessimism upon the value of nothing. And 
in practice we find that those poets or political leaders 
who come from the people, and whose experiences have 
already been searching and cruel, are the most san- 
guine people in the world. These men out of the old 
agony are always optimists; they are sometimes offen- 
sive optimists. A man like Robert Burns, whose father 
(like Dickens's father) goes bankrupt, whose whole 
life is a struggle against miserable external powers and 
internal weaknesses yet more miserable — a man whose 
life begins grey and ends black — Burns does not merely 
sing about the goodness of life, he positively rants 
and cants about it. Rousseau, whom all his friends 
and acquaintances treated almost as badly as he treated 
them — Rousseau does not grow merely eloquent., he 
grows gushing and sentimental, about the inherent 
goodness of human nature. Charles Dickens, who was 
m.ost miserable at the receptive age when most people 
are most happy, is afterwards happy when all men 
weep. Circumstances break men's bones ; it has never 
been shown that they break men's optimism. These 
great popular leaders do all kinds of desperate things 
under the immedate scourge of tragedy. They be- 
come drunkards : they become demagogues ; they be- 



45 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

come morpho-maniacs. They never become pessimists. 
Most unquestionably there are ragged und unhappy 
men whom we could easily understand being pessi- 
mists. But as a matter of fact they are not pessimist*^. 
Most unquestionably there are whole dim hordes of 
humanity whom we should promptly pardon if they 
cursed God. But they don't. The pessimists are aris- 
tocrats like Byron; the men who curse God are aris- 
tocrats like Swinburne. But when those who starve and 
suffer speak for a moment, they do not profess merely 
an optimism, they profess a cheap optimism; they are^ 
too poor to afford a dear one. They cannot indulge 
in any detailed or merely logical defence of life; that 
would be to delay the enjoyment of it. These higher 
optimists, of whom Dickens was one, do not approve 
of the universe ; they do not even admire the universe ; 
they fall in love with it. They embrace life too closely 
to criticize or even to see it. Existence to such men 
has the wild beauty of a woman, and those love her 
with most intensitv who love her with least cause. 



46 



Ill 

DICKENS AS REPORTER AND AS "BOZ"* 

Dickens was nineteen years old when at last he en- 
tered the gallery. His father, with whom he still lived 
in Bentinck Street, had already, as we have seen, joined 
the gallery as a reporter for one of the morning papers, 
and was now in the more comfortable circumstances 
derived from the addition to his official pension which 
this praiseworthy labor insured; but his own engage- 
ment on the Chronicle dates somewhat later. His 
first parliamentary service was given to the True Snn, 
a journal which had then on its editorial staff some dear 
friends of mine, through whom I became myself a con- 
tributor to it, and afterwards, in common with all con- 
cerned, whether in its writing, reporting, printing, or 
publishing, a sharer in its difficulties. The most for- 
midable of these arrived one day in a general strike of 
the reporters; and well I remember noticing at this 
dread time, on the staircase of the magnificent mansion 
we were lodged in, a young man of my own age, whose 
keen animation of look would have arrested attention 
anywhere, and whose name, upon inquiry, I then for 
the first time heard. It was coupled with the fact, 
which gave it interest even then, that "young Dickens" 

*F.xtr?^cts from the "Life of Charles Dickens," by Tohn 
Forster. Messrs. Chapman and Hall and J. B. Lippincott Co. 

47 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

had been spokesman for the recalcitrant reporters, an.l 
conducted their case triumphantly. He was afterwards 
during two sessions engaged for the Mirror of Parlia- 
ment, which one of his uncles by the mother's side 
originated and conducted; and finally, in his twenty- 
third year, he became a reporter for the Morning 
Chronicle. 

A step far more momentous to him (though then he 
did not know it) he had taken shortly before. In the 
December number for 1833 of what then was called the 
Old Monthly Magazine, his first published piece of 
writing had seen the light. He has described himself 
dropping this paper (Mr. Minns and his Cousin, as he 
afterwards entitled it, but which appeared in the maga- 
zine as A Dinner at Poplar Walk) stealthily one eve- 
ning at twilight, with fear and trembhng, into a dark 
letter-box in a dark office up a dark court in Fleet 
Street ; and he has told his agitation when it appeared 
in all the glory of print: "On which occasion I 
walked down to Westminster Hall, and turned into it 
for half an hour, because my eyes were so dimmed 
with joy and pride that they could not bear the street, 
and were not fit to be seen there." He had purchased 
the magazine at a shop in the Strand ; and exactly two 
years afterwards, in the younger member of a publish- 
ing firm who had called, at the chambers in Furnival's 
Inn to which he had moved soon after entering the 
sraller>% with the proposal that originated "Pickwick/' 
he recognized the person he had bought that magazine 
from, and whom before or since he had never seen. 

This interval of two years more than comprised 
what remained of his career in the s^allery and en- 

48 



DICKENS AS REPORTER AND AS ^^BOZ'' 

gagements connected with it; but that this occupation 
was of the utmost importance in its influence on his 
life, in the disciphne of his powers as well as of his 
character, there can be no doubt whatever. ''To the 
wholesome training of severe newspaper work, when I 
was a very young man, I constantly refer my first suc- 
cesses," he said to the New York editors when he last 
took leave of them. It opened to him a wide and varied 
range of experience, which his wonderful observation, 
exact as It was humorous, made entirely his own. He 
saw the last of the old coaching-days, and of the old 
inns that were a part of them ; but it will be long before 
the readers of his living page see the last of the life of 
either. "There never was," he once wrote to me (in 
1845), anybody connected with newspapers who, in 
the same space of time, had so much express and post- 
chaise experience as I. And what gentlemen they were 
to serve in such things, at the old Morning Chronicle! 
Great or small it did not matter. I have had to charge 
for half a dozen break-downs in half a dozen times as 
many miles. I have had to charge for the damage* 
of a great-coat from the drippings of a blazing wax 
candle, in writing through the smallest hours of the 
night in a swift-flying carriage-and-pair. I have had to 
charge for all sorts of breakages fifty times in a jour- 
ney without question, such being the ordinary results 
of the pace which we went at. I have charged for 
broken hats, broken luggage, broken chaises, broken 
harness — everything but a broken head, which is the 
only thing they would have grumbled to pay for." 

Something to the same effect he said publicly twenty 
years later, on the occasion of his presiding, in May, 

49 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

1865, at the second annual dinner of the Newspaper 
Press Fund, when he condensed within the compass of 
his speech a summary of the whole of his reporting life, 
''I am not here/' he said, "advocating the case of a 
mere ordinary client of whom I have little or no knowl- 
edge. I hold a brief tonight for my brothers. T went 
into the gallery of the House of Commons as a parlia- 
mentary reporter when I was a boy, and I left — I can 
hardly believe the inexorable truth — nigh thirty years 
ago. I have pursued the calling of a reporter under 
circumstances of which many of my brethren here can 
form no adequate conception. I have often transcribed 
for the printer, from my shorthand notes, important 
public speeches in which the strictest accuracy was re- 
quired, and a mistake in which would have been to a 
young man severely compromising, writing on the palm 
of my hand, by the light of a dark-lantern, in a post- 
chaise and four, galloping through a wild country, and 
through the dead of the night, at the then surprising 
rate of fifteen miles an hour. The very last time I was 
at Exeter, I strolled into the castle-yard there, to iden- 
tify, for the amusement of a friend, the spot on which 
I once 'took,' as we used to call it, an election-speech 
of Lord John Russell at the Devon contest, in the midst 
of a lively fight maintained by all the vagabonds in that 
division of the county, and under such a pelting rain 
that I remember two good-natured colleagues, who 
chanced to be at leisure, held a pocket-handkerchief 
over my note-book, after the manner of a state canopy 
in an ecclesiastical procession. I have worn my knees > 
by writing on them on the old back row of the old! 
gallery of the old House of Commons ; and I have worn 



sO 



DICKENS AS REPORTER AND AS 'VBOZ" 

my feet by standing to write in a preposterous pen in 
the House of Lords, where we used to be huddleJ 
together like so many sheep. — kept in waiting, say, 
until the woolsack might want restuffing. Returning 
home from exciting political meetings in the country to 
the waiting press in London, I do verily believe I have 
been upset in almost every description of vehicle known 
in this country. I have been, in my time, belated on 
miry by-roads, towards the small hours, forty or fifty 
miles from London, in a wheelless carriage, with ex- 
hausted horses and drunken post-boys, and have got 
back in time for publication, to be received with never- 
forgotten compliments by the late Mr. Black, coming 
in the broadest of Scotch from the broadest of hearts I 
ever knew. These trivial things I mention as an assur- 
ance to you that I never have forgotten the fascination 
of that old pursuit. The pleasure that I used to feel in 
the rapidity and dexterity of its exercise has never 
faded out of my breast. Whatever little cunning of 
hand or head I took to it, or acquired in it, I have so 
retained as that I fully believe I could resume it to- 
morrow, very little the worse from long disuse. To this 
present year of my life, when I sit in this hall, or 
where not, hearing a dull speech (the phenomenon does 
occur), I sometimes beguile the tedium of the moment 
by mentally following the speaker in the old, old way; 
and sometimes, if you can believe m.e, I even find my 
hand going on the table-cloth, taking an imaginary 
note of it all.'' The latter I have known him do fre- 
quently. It was indeed a quite ordinary habit with him. 
Mr. Jam.es Grant, a writer who was himself in the 
gallery with Dickens, and who states that among its 

51 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

eigfhty or ninety reporters he occupied the very highest 
rank, not merely for accuracy in reporting, but for mar- 
velous quickness in transcribing, has lately also told 
us that while there he was exceedingly reserved in his 
manners, and that, though showing the usual courtesies 
to all he was concerned with in his duties, the only per- 
sonal intimacy he formed was with Mr. Thomas Beard, 
then too reporting for the Morning Chronicle, I have 
already mentioned the friendly and familiar relations 
maintained with this gentleman to the close of his life 
and in confirmation of Mr. Grant's statement I can 
further say that the only other associate of these early 
reporting days to whom I ever heard him refer with 
special regard was the late Mr. Vincent Dowling, many 
years editor of Bell's Life, with whom he did not con- 
tinue much personal intercourse, but of whose charac- 
ter as well as talents he had formed a very high opinion. 
Nor is there anything to add to the notice of these 
days which the reader's fancy may not easily supply. 
A letter has been kept as written by him while engaged 
on one of his "expresses;'' but it is less for its saying 
anything new, than for its confirming with a pleasant 
vividness what has been said already, that its contents 
will justif}^ mention here. 

He writes, on a '^'Tuesday morning" in May, 1835, 
from the Bush Inn, Bristol; the occasion that has 
taken him to the west, connected with a reporting party, 
being L.ord John Russell's Devonshire contest above 
named, and his associate-chief being Mr. Beard, in- 
trusted with command for the Chronicle in this partic- 
ular express. He expects to forward "the conclusion 
of Russell's dinner" by Cooper's company's coach leav- 

52 



DICKENS AS REPORTER AND AS ''BOZ" 

ing the Bush at half-past six next morning ; and by the 
first Ball's coach on Thursday morning he will forward 
the report of the Bath dinner, indorsing the parcel for 
immediate delivery, with extra rewards for the porter. 
Beard is to go over to Bath next morning. He is him- 
self to come back by the mail from Marlborough ; he 
has no doubt, if Lord John makes a speech of any ordi- 
nary dimensions, it can be done by the time Marl- 
borough is reached ; "and taking into consideration the 
immense importance of having the addition of saddle- 
horses from thence, it is, beyond all doubt, worth 
an effort. . . I need not say,'' he continues, '*that 
it will be sharp work and will require two of us ; for 
we shall both be up the whole of the previous night, and 
shall have to sit up all night again to get it off in time/' 
He adds that as soon as they have had a little sleep 
they will return to town as quickly as they can; but 
they have, if the express succeeds, to stop at sundry 
places along the road to pay money and notify satisfac- 
tion. And so. for himself and Beard, he is his editors 
very sincerely. 

Another anecdote of these reporting days, with its 
sequel, may be added from his own alleged relation, in 
which, however, mistakes occur that it seems strange 
he should have made. The story, as told, is that the 
late Lord Derby, when Mr. Stanley, had on some im- 
portant occasion made a speech which all the reporters 
found it necessary greatly to abridge ; that its essential 
points had nevertheless been so well given in the Chron- 
icle that Mr. Stanley, having need of it for himself in 
greater detail, bad sent a request to the reporter to meet 
him in Carlton House Terrace and take down the en- 

53 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

tire speech; that Dickens attended and did "the work 
accordingly, much to Mr. Stanley's satisfaction; and 
that, on his dining with Mr. Gladstone in recent years, 
and finding the aspect of the dining-room strangely 
familiar, he discovered afterwards on inquiry that it 
was there he had taken the speech. The story, as it 
actually occurred, is connected with the brief life of 
the Mirror of Parliament. It was not at any special 
desire of Mr. Stanley's, but for that new record of the 
debates, which had been started by one of the uncles 
of Dickens and professed to excel Hansard in giving 
verbatim reports, that the famous speech against 
O'Connell was taken as described. The young re- 
porter went to the room in Carlton Terrace because 
the work of his uncle Barrow's publication required to 
be done there ; and if, in later years, the great author 
was in the same room as the guest of the prime min- 
ister, it must have been but a month or two before he 
died, when for the first time he visited and breakfasted 
with Mr. Gladstone. 

The mention of his career in the gallery may ciose 
with the incident. I will only add that his observation 
while there had not led him to form any high opinion 
of the House of Com^mons or its heroes, and that cf 
the Pickwickian sense which so often takes the place 
of common sense in our legislature he omitted no 
opportunity of declaring his contempt at every part of 
his life. 

The other occupation had meanwhile not been lost 
sigbt of, and for this we are to go back a little. Since 
the first sketch appeared in the Monthly Magazine, nine 
others have enlivened the pages of later numbers of the 

54 



DICKENS AS REPORTER AND AS "BOZ" 

same magazine, the last in February, 1835, and that 
which appeared in the preceding August having first 
had the signature of Boz. This was the nickname of 
a pet child, his youngest brother Augustus, who^ in 
honor of the ''Vicar of Wakefield'' he had dubbeJ 
Moses, which being facetiously pronounced through the 
nose became Boses, and being shortened became Boz. 
*'Boz was a very familiar household word to me, long 
before I was an author, and so I came to adopt it.'' 
Thus had he fully invented his Sketches by Boz before 
they were even so called, or any one was ready to give 
much attention to them : and the next invention needful 
to himself was some kind of payment in return for 
them. The magazine was owned as well as conducted 
at this time by a Mr. Holland, who had come back from 
Bolivar's South American campaigns with the rank of 
captain, and had hoped to make it a popular mouth- 
piece for his ardent liberalism. But this hope, as well 
as his own health, quite failed ; and he had sorrowfully 
to decline receiving any more of the sketches when they 
had to cease as voluntary oflferings. I do not think that 
either he or the magazine lived many weeks after an 
evening I passed with him in Doughty Street in 1837, 
when he spoke in a very touching way of the failure of 
this and other enterprises of his life, and of the help 
that Dickens had been to him. 

Nothing being thus forthcoming from the Monthh, 
it was of course but natural that the sketches too should 
cease to be forthcoming; and, even before the above- 
named February number appeared, a new opening had 
been found for them. An evening oflfshoot to the 



55 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

Morning Chronicle had been lately in hand ; and to a 
countryman of Black's engaged in the preparations for 
it, Mr. George Hogarth, Dickens was communicating 
from his rooms in Furnival's Inn, on the evening of 
Tuesday, the 20th of January, 1835, certain hopes and 
fancies he had formed. This was the beginning of his 
knowledge of an accomplished and kindly man, with 
whose family his relations were soon to become so in- 
timate as to have an influence on his future career. Mr. 
Hogarth had asked him as a favor to himself, to write 
an original sketch for the first number of the enter- 
prise, and in writing back to say with what readines-i 
he should comply, and how anxiously he should desire 
to do his best for the person who had made the request, 
he mentioned what had arisen in his mind. It had oc- 
curred to him that he might not be unreasonably or im- 
properly trespassing farther on Mr. Hogarth, if trust- 
ing to his kindness to refer the application to the proper 
quarter, he begged to ask whether it was probable, if he 
commenced a regular series of articles under some at- 
tractive title for the Evening Chronicle, its conductors 
would think he had any claim to some additional rer 
muneration (of course, of no great amount) for doing 
so. In short, he wished to put it to the proprietors — 
first, whether a continuation of some chapters of light 
papers in the style of his street-sketches would be con- 
sidered of use in the new journal ; and secondly, if so, 
whether they would not think it fair and reasonable 
that, taking his share of the ordinary reporting busines-, 
of the Chronicle besides, he should receive something 
for the papers beyond his ordinary salary as a reporter 
The request was thought fair, he began the sketches, 

56 



DICKENS AS REPORTER AND AS "BOZ" 

and his salary was raised from five to seven guineas 
a week. 

They went on, with undiminished spirit and fresh- 
ness, throughout the year; and, much as they were 
talked of outside as well as in the world of newspapers, 
nothing in connection with them delighted the writer 
half so much as the hearty praise of his own editor 
Mr. Black is one of the men who has passed without 
recognition out of a world his labors largely benefited, 
but with those who knew him no man was so popular, 
as well for his broad kindly humor as for his honest 
great-hearted enjoyment of whatever was excellent in 
others. Dickens to the last remembered that it was 
most of all the cordial help of this good old mirth- 
loving man which had started him joyfully on his carec/ 
of letters. **It was John Black that flung the slipper 
after me/' he would often say. "Dear old Black ! my 
first hearty out-and-out appreciator," is an expression 
in one of his letters written to me in the year he died. 



IMPROMPTU 
(In Bentley's Miscellany, March, 1837.) 

"Who the dickens *Boz' could be 

Puzzled many a learned elf, 
Till time revealed the mystery, 

And 'Boz' appeared as Dickens self." 

C. J. Davids. 



57 



IV 

"PICKWICK''^^ 

Dickens has told us, in his preface to the later edi 
tions, much how **Pickwick'' came to be projected and 
published. It was in this wise : Seymour, a caricatur- 
ist of very considerable merit, though not, as we should 
now consider, in the first rank of the great caricatur- 
ists, had proposed to Messrs. Chapman and Hall, then 
just starting on their career as publishers, a ''series of 
Cockney sporting plates/' Messrs. Chapman and Hall 
entertained the idea favorably, but opined that the plates 
would require illustrative letter-press ; and casting 
about for some suitable author, bethought themselves 
of Dickens, whose tales and sketches had been exciting 
some little sensation in the world of journalism; and 
who had, indeed, already written for the firm a story, 
the "Tuggs at Ramsgate," which may be read among 
the "Sketches." Accordingly Mr. Hall called on Dick- 
ens for the purpose of proposing the scheme. This 
would be in 1835, towards the latter end of the year; 
and Dickens, who had apparently left the patemal 
roof for some little time, was living bachelorwise, in 
Furnival's Inn. What was his astonishment, when 
Mr. Hall came in, to find he was the same person who 
had sold him the copy of the magazine containing his 

*From "Life of Charles Dickens/' by Frank T. Marzials 
ill Great Writers Series. Walter Scott. $r.oo and $0.40. 

58 



^TICKWICK" 

first story — that memorable copy at which he had 
looked, at Westminster Hall, through eyes bedimmed 
with joyful tears. Such coincidences always had for 
Dickens a peculiar, almost a superstitious interest. 
The circumstances seemed of happy augury to both 
the "high contracting parties.'' Publisher and author 
were for the nonce on the best of terms. The latter, 
no doubt, saw his opening; was more than ready to 
undertake the work, and had no quarrel with the re- 
muneration offered. But even then he was not the 
man to play second fiddle to anybody. Before they 
parted, he had quite succeeded in turning the tables 
on Seymour. The original proposal had been that 
the artist should produce four caricatures on sporting 
subjects every month, and that the letter-press should 
be in illustration of the caricatures. Dickens got Mr, 
Hall to agree to reverse that position. He, Dickens, 
was to have the command of the story, and the artist 
to illustrate him. How far these altered relations 
would have worked quite smoothly if Seymour had 
lived, and if Dickens's story had not so soon assumed 
the proportions of a colossal success, it is idle to specu- 
late. Seymour died by his own hand before the sec- 
ond number was published and so ceased to be in a po- 
sition to assert himself. It was, however, in deference 
to the peculiar bent of his art that Mr. Winkle, with 
his disastrous sporting proclivities, made part of the 
first conception of the book ; and it is also very signifi- 
cant of the book's origin, that the design on the green 
wrapper in which the monthly parts made their ap- 
pearance, should have had a purely sporting character, 
and exhibited Mr. Pickwick sleepily fishing in a punt, 

50 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

and Mr. Winkle shooting at what looks like a cock- 
sparrow, — the whole surrounded by a chaste ara- 
besque of guns, rods, and landing-nets. To Seymour, 
too, we owe the portrait of Mr. Pickwick, which has 
impressed that excellent old gentleman's face an^ 
figure upon all our memories. But to return to Dick- 
ens's interview with Mr, Hall. They seem to have 
parted in mutual satisfaction. At least it is certain 
Dickens was satisfied, for in a letter written, appa- 
rently on the same day, to "my dearest Kate/' he thus 
sums up the proposals of the publishers : "They have 
made me an offer of fourteen pounds a month to write 
and edit a new publication they contemplate, entirely 
by myself, to be published monthly, and each num- 
ber to contain four wood-cuts, . . . The work 
will be no joke, but the emolument is too tempting to 
resist." 

So, little thinking how soon he would begin to re- 
gard the "emolument*' as ludicrously inadequate, he 
set to work on "Pickwick." The first part \vas pub- 
lished on the 31st of March or ist of April, 1836. 

That part seems scarcely to have created any sen- 
sation. Mr. James Grant, the novelist, says indeed, 
that the first five parts were "a dead failure." and that 
the publishers were even debating whether the en- 
terprise had not better be abandoned altogether, when 
suddenly Sam Weller appeared upon the scene, and 
turned their gloom into laughter. Be that as it may, 
certain it is that before many months had passed, 
Messrs. Chapman and Hall must have been thor- 
oughly confirmed in a policy of perseverance. "The 
first order for Part I.," that is the first order for bind- 

6n 



^ "PICKWICK" 

ing, *%as," says the bookbinder who executed the 
work, "for four hundred copies only/' The order for 
Part XV. had risen to forty thousand. All contem- 
porary accounts agree that the success was sudden, 
immense. The author, like Lord Byron, some twenty- 
five years before, "awoke and found himself famous." 
Young as he was, not having yet numbered more than 
twenty-four summers, he at one stride reached the 
topmost height of popularity. Everybody read his 
book. Everybody laughed over it. Everybody talked 
about it. Everybody felt, confusedly perhaps, but very 
surely, that a new and vital force had arisen in Eng- 
lish literature. 

And English literature just then was in one of its 
times of slackness, rather than full flow. The great 
tide of the beginning of the century had ebbed. The 
tide of the Victorian age had scarcely begun to do 
more than ripple and flash on the horizon. Byron 
was dead, and Shelley and Keats and Coleridge and 
Lamb: Southey's life was on the decline: Words- 
worth had long executed his best work; while of the 
coming mxcn, Carlyle, though in the plenitude of his 
power, having published "Sartor Resartus," had not 
yet published his "French Revolution," or delivered 
his lectures on the "Heroes," and was not yet in 
the plenitude of his fame and influence; and Macau- 
lay, then in India, was known only as the essayist and 
politician; and Lord Tennyson and the Brownings 
were more or less nam.es of the future. Looking es- 
pecially at fiction, the time may be said to have been 
waiting for its master-novelist. Five years had gone 
by since the good and great Sir Walter Scott had been 

6i 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

laid to rest in Drybiirgh Abbey, there to sleep, as is 
most fit, amid the ruins of that old Middle Age worM 
he loved so well, with the babble of the Tweed for 
lullaby. Nor had any one shown himself of stature 
to step into his vacant place, albeit Bulwer, more 
precocious even than Dickens, was already known as 
the author of "Pelham," "Eugene Aram,'' and the 
*'Last Days of Pompeii,'' and Disraeli had written 
"Vivian Grey," and his earlier books ; while Thackeray, 
Charlotte Bronte, Kingsley, George Eliot were all, of 
course, to come later. No, there was a vacant throne 
among the novelists. Here was the hour — and here, 
too, was the man. In virtue of natural kingship he 
took up his sceptre unquestioned. 

Still, it may not be superfluous to inquire into the 
why and wherefore of his success. All eflfects have 
a cause. What was the cause of this special phe- 
nomenon? In the first place, the admirable freshness 
of the book won its way into every heart. There is a 
fervor of youth and healthy good spirits about the 
whole thing. In a former generation, B3^ron had ut- 
tered his wail of despair over a worthless world. We, 
in our own time, have got back to the dreary point of 
considering whether life be worth living. Here was 
a writer who had no such misgivings. For him life 
was pleasant, useful, full of delight — to be not only 
tolerated, but enjoyed. He liked its sights, its play 
of character, its adventures — affected no superiority 
to its amusements and convivialities — thoroughly laid 
himself out to please and to be pleased. And his 
characters were in the same mood. Their fund of 
animal spirits seemed inexhaustible. For life's jollities 



•TICKWICK" 

they were never unprepared. No doubt there were, 
''mighty mean moments'' in their existence, as ther^ 
have been in the existence of most of us. It cannot 
have been pleasant to Mr. Winkle to have his eye 
blackened by the obstreperous cabman. Mr. Tracy 
Tupman probably felt a passing pang when jilted by 
the maiden aunt in favor of the audacious Jingle. No 
man would elect to occupy the position of defendant 
in an action for breach of promise, or prefer to 
sojourn in a debtors' prison. But how jauntily do 
Mr. Pickwick and his friend shake off such discom- 
forts ! How buoyantly do they override the billows 
that beset their course! And what excellent diges- 
tion they have, and how slightly do they seem to 
suffer the next day from any little excesses in the 
matter of milk punch ! 

Then besides the good spirits and good temper, there 
is Dickens's royal gift of humor. As some actors have 
only to show their face and utter a word or two, in 
order to convulse an audience with merriment, so here 
does almost every sentence hold good and honest 
laughter. Not, perhaps, objects the superfine and too 
dainty critic, humor of the most delicate sort — not hu- 
mor that for its rare and exquisite quality can 
be placed beside the masterpieces in that kind of Lamb; 
or Sterne, or Goldsmith, or Washington Irving. 
Granted freely; not humor of that special character 
But very good humor nevertheless, the thoroughly 
popular humor of broad comedy and obvious farce — 
the humor that finds its account where absurd char- 
acters are placed in ridiculous situations, that delights 
in the oddities of the whimsical and eccentric, that 

63 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

irradiates stupidity and makes dulness amusing. How 
thoroughly wholesome it is too! To be at the same 
time merry and wise, says the old adage, is a hard 
combination. Dickens was both. With his boisterous 
merriment, his volleys of inextinguishable laughter, 
he never makes game of what is at all worthy of re- 
spect. Here, as in his later books, right is right, and 
wrong wrong, and he is never tempted to jingle his 
jester's bell out of season, and m.ake right look ridicu- 
lous. And if the humor of "Pickwick" be wholesome, 
it is also most genial and kindly. We have here no 
acrid cynic sneeringly pointing out the plague spots 
of humanity, showing pleasantly how even the good 
are tainted with evil. Rather does Dickens delight in 
finding some touch of goodness, some lingering mem- 
ory of better things, some hopeful aspiration, some 
trace of unselfish devotion in characters where all 
seems soddened and lost. In brief, the laughter is the 
laughter of one who sees the foibles, and even the vices 
of his fellowmen, and yet looks on them lovingly and 
helpfully. 

So much the first readers of "Pickwick'' might note 
as the book unfolded itself to them, part by part; and 
they might also note one or two things besides. They 
might note — they could scarcely fail to do so — that 
though there was a touch of caricature in nearly all 
the characters, yet those characters were, one and all, 
wonderfully real, and very much alive. It was no 
world of shadows to which the author introduced 
them. Mr. Pickwick had a very distinct existence, 
and so had his three friends, and Bob Sawyer, and 
Benjamin Allen, and Mr. Jingle, and Tony Weller, and 

64 



'TICKWICK" 

all the swarm of minor characters. While as to Sam 
Weller, if it be really true that he averted impending 
ruin from the book, and turned defeat into victory, 
one can only say that it was like him. When did he 
ever "stint stroke" in "foughten field?" By what 
array of adverse circumstances was he ever taken at 
a disadvantage? To have created a character of this 
vitality, of this individual force, would be a feather 
in the cap of any novelist who ever lived. Something 
I think of Dickens's own blood passed into this special 
progeniture of his. It has been irreverently said that 
Falstaff might represent Shakespeare in his cups, just 
as Hamlet might represent him in his more sober mo- 
ments. So I have always had a kind of fancy that 
Sam Weller might be regarded as Dickens himself seer, 
in a certain aspect — a sort of Dickens, shall I say? — 
in an humbler sphere of life, and who had never de- 
voted himself to literature. There is in both the same 
energy, pluck, essential goodness of heart, fertility of 
resource, abundance of animal spirits, and also an im- 
agination of a peculiar kind, in which wit enters as a 
main ingredient. And having noted how highly vital- 
ized were the characters in "Pickwick," I think the first 
readers might also fairly be expected to note, — and 
in fact, it is clear from Dickens's preface that they 
did note — how greatly the book increased in scope 
and power as it proceeded. The beginning was con- 
ceived almost in a spirit of farce. The incidents and 
adventure had scarcely any other object than to create 
amusement. Mr. Pickwick himself appeared on the 
scene with fantastic honors and the badge of ab- 
surdity, as "the man who had traced to their source 

65 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

the mighty ponds of Hampstead, and agitated the 
scientific world with the Theory of Tittlebats/' But 
in all this there is a gradual change. Mr. Pickwick 
is presented to us latterly as an exceedingly sound- 
headed as well as sound-hearted old gentleman, whom 
we should never think of associating with the source 
of Hampstead Ponds or any other folly. While in such 
scenes as those at the Fleet Prison, the author is clearl;- 
endeavoring to do much more than raise a laugh. He 
is sounding the deeper, more tragic chords in human 
feeling. 

Ah, if we add to all this — to the freshness, the "go,'^ 
the good spirits, the keen observation, the graphic' 
painting, the humor, the vitality of the characters, the 
gradual development of power — if we add to all this| 
that something which is in all, and greater than all, viz., 
genius, and genius of a highly popular kind, then wc 
shall have no difficulty in understanding why every- 
body read "Pickwick," and how it came to pass that 
its publishers made some £20,000 by a work that they 
once thought of abandoning as worthless. 



SYNOPSIS OF "PICKWICK''* 

"The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club" deal, as' 
the title suggests, with a series of separate incidents, rather 
than a single connected plot; they are a sort of humorous 
"Odyssey," chronicling the wanderings and adventures of a 
group of friends. 

Samuel Pickwick, Esquire, the founder and president of 
the Pickwick Club, an association devoted to research and 
conviviality, with headquarters in London, is a corpulent, 

♦From "Synopses of Dickens's Novels" by J. Walker i\Tc- 
Spadden. Thomas Y. Crowell and Company. 



I 



66 



■'I 



"PICKWICK" 

benevolent gentleman in middle life, whose scientific sense 
hardly equals his simplicity. But being desirous of conduct- 
ing personal tours of investigation in the outlying districts, 
he obtains the Club's permission to take a small committee of 
friends with him in a series of excursions. This committee 
consists of Tracy Tupman, Augustus Snodgrass, and Na- 
thaniel Winkle. 

Their first journey is to Rochester and neighboring towns 
in Kent. An eccentric strolling player, of disconnected speech, 
who is later introduced as Alfred Jingle, rescues Pickwick 
from a cabman, accompanies the party to Rochester, and dines 
with them there. He and Tupman go to a ball where Jingle's 
behavior, in Winkle's borrowed clothes, involves the latter 
gentleman in a duel. This is happily averted, and the friends 
go to a military review, where they narrowly escape the cross- 
firing, but survive to meet a country gentleman of Dingley 
Dell, Mr. W^ardle, and his two daughters and sister, to say 
nothing of Joe, the fat boy. 

Wardle invites Pickwick and his three friends to his farm. 
They go and enjoy various rural sports, such as shooting — 
wherein Winkle misses the bird and hits Tupman in the arm — 
and cricketing. Tupman's slight wound is nursed by Miss 
Wardle, the spinster sister, and his belated affections are 
aroused to the proposing point. Unfortunately — or fortu- 
nately — for him, Jingle appears on the scene, steals away the 
lad/s heart, and runs off with her to London. A thrilling 
chase ensues on the part of Wardle and Pickwick. The elopers 
are overhauled in London, and the designing Jingle is bribed 
to forego his matrimonial scheme. 

At the inn where the elopers are found, Pickwick's atten- 
tion is attracted to a servant by the name of Sam Weller. 
He determines to take Sam for valet, and tries to announce 
this determination to Mrs. Bardell, his landlady, when that 
worthy woman decides that Pickwick is making her a pro- 
posal of marriage, and promptly faints in his arms. 

When Pickwick extricates himself from this scene, he 
takes his three friends and Sam to Eatanswill, where they 
witness an election and attend a reception given by Mrs. Leo 

67 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

Hunter, author of the "Ode to an Expiring Frog." They again 
meet Jingle, whom Pickwick pursues to Bury St. Edmonds. 
Jingle and his servant, Job Trotter, there prove too much for 
Pickwick and Sam Weller. Pickwick is lured into the grounds 
of a ladies' boarding-school, to the consternation of the in- 
mates and also of the intruder. 

Pickwick and his friends pay another visit to Dingley Dell, 
where they go hunting. Pickwick trespasses upon a private 
estate, and is put in the pound. When he returns to London, 
he takes steps to fight a law-suit for breach of promise, en- 
tered by Mrs. Bardell through the sharp law firm of Dodson 
and Fogg. Then he journeys to Ipswich, where some exciting 
adventures arise. In a tavern he blunders into the wrong 
bedchamber, one occupied by a spinster lady in curl papers. 
Her admirer threatens to fight him, and in alarm the lady 
gets out a warrant against Pickwick. He is only released 
through the ingenuity of Sam Weller, who learns that the 
magistrate of the town is being imposed upon by Jingle and 
Trotter. Sam is thus enabled also to pay off his score against 
that couple. 

One more excursion is set down in the first volume — a 
Christm.as visit to Dingley Dell, where one of the Wardle 
girls becomes Mrs. Trundle, and the wedding bells and Yule- 
tide bells mingle merril5^ 

Volume Two finds the Pickwick group still at the Wardle 
homestead. Snodgrass is the devoted admirer of Emily, the 
remaining daughter. Winkle has found an affinity in Arabella 
Allen, Tupman has forsworn love since the time Jingle out- 
stripped him. Arabella's brother Ben and his chum, Bob 
Sawyer, two medical students, arrive at Dingley Dell. Bob is 
a rival of Winkle's. 

Pickwick returns to the city in good time for the spring 
term of court, when his trial comes up. Mrs. Bardell wins 
her suit and is awarded damages to the extent of seven hun- 
dred and fifty pounds. This Pickwick refuses to pay, and 
therefore faces the alternative of being committed to prison in 
two months' time. He employs the interval of freedom in 
a visit to Bath, where he attends a reception of society; Sam 

68 



*TICKWICK" 

Weller attends another, of footmen; and Winkle has a thrill- 
ing night adventure with a lady and a sedan-chair. This ad- 
venture causes Winkle to proceed hastily to a neighboring 
town, where, however, he has the good fortune to hear tidings 
of Arabella Allen. Sam and his master come to his assistance, 
and a clandestine interview is successfully carried through with 
the young lady. Sam, meanwhile, does some courting on his 
own account with Mary, a pretty housemaid. 

Pickwick is presently incarcerated in Fleet Prison for non- 
payment of the Bardell damages. The devoted Sam causes 
himself to be likewise arrested as a debtor, by means of a 
scheme arranged with his father, Tony Weller, a fat, much- 
married coachman. Other debtors whom Pickwick is aston- 
ished to find among the prisoners are Alfred Jingle and Job 
Trotter. They have speedily run through the money ob- 
tained from Wardle, and are now in the depth of poverty. 
Pickwick's generous heart is touched, and he relieves their dis- 
tress. 

After Pickwick has remained three months in the prison, 
another surprising inmate arrives in the person of Mrs. Bar- 
dell, who has been held by her lawyers for the cost of her 
lawsuit. Pickwick relents, at this juncture, to the extent of 
paying these costs, and she is glad to sign a release on the 
damages. 

Jingle and Trotter are also discharged through Pickvv'-ick's 
instrumentality, and take a new start in life as emigrants. 

The first expedition undertaken by Pickwick upon obtain- 
ing his freedom is on behalf of Winkle, who has succeeded 
in marrying Arabella Allen in spite of her brother Ben, who 
has favored Sawyer. Pickwick reconciles the opposing forces 
and also visits Winkle's father, but with poor results. The 
latter, however, is soon brought to look with favorable eyes 
upon his new daughter. 

Pickwick is no sooner relieved of this tangle than he is 
involved in another by Snodgrass, who is on the point of 
eloping with Emily Wardle. A fatherly sanction, however, 
renders this step unnecessary, and the young couple are 
united in due form at Pickwick's own home — a new house 

69 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

at Dulwich. Here Pickwick, having dissolved his Club, passes 
his remaining years in peaceful retirement, attended by Sam 
Weller and Sam's wife, Mary. 

DEATH OF MARY HOGARTH 

According to the custom of the time *Tickwick'* 
appeared in monthly installments. While it was at the 
height of its popularity it became necessary to suspend 
publication for two months because of the serious 
mental shock received by Dickens from the sudden 
death of his sister-in-law. On April 2, 1836, the 
writer had married Catharine Hogarth. Her younger 
sister, Mary, lived with them, and her brother-in-law's 
warm admiration and affection for her m.ay be gath- 
ered from the extracts given below. Dickens wrote 
the inscription upon her gravestone: "Young, beauti- 
ful, and good, God numbered her among his angels at 
the early age of seventeen." 

On October 26, 1837, Dickens wrote to Mrs. Ho- 
garth to thank her for a chain made of Mary Hogarth's 
hair which the mother sent to him on the first anni- 
versary of her birthday after her death. 
"My dear Mrs. Hogarth :* 

"T need not thank you for your present of yester- 
day, for you know the sorrowful pleasure I shall take 
in wearing it, and the care with which T shall prize it, 
until — so far as relates to this life — I am like her. 

"T have never had her ring off my finger by day or 
night, except for an instant at a time, to wash my 

*From "The Letters of Charles Dickens/' edited by his 
sister-in-law and his eldest daughter. The Macmillan Com- 
pany. 

70 



"PICKWICK" 

hands, since she died. I have never had her sweetness 
and excellence absent from my mind so long. I can 
solemnly say that, waking or sleeping, I have never 
lost the recollection of our hard trial and sorrow, and 
I feel that I never shall. 

"It will be a great relief to my heart when I find 
you sufficiently calm upon this sad subject to claim 
the promise I made you when she lay dead in this 
house, never to shrink from speaking of her, as if her 
memory must be avoided, but rather to take a mel- 
ancholy pleasure in recalling the times when we were 
all so happy — so happy that increase of fame and pros- 
perity has only widened the gap in my affections, by 
causing me to think how she would have shared and 
enhanced all our joys, and how proud I should have 
been (as God knows I always was) to possess the af- 
fections of the gentlest and purest creature that ever 
shed light on earth. I wish you could know how I 
weary now for the three rooms in Furnival's Inn, and 
how I miss that pleasant smile and those sweet word> 
which, bestowed upon our evening's work, in our 
merry banterings round the fire, were more precious 
to me than the applause of a whole world would be. I 
can recall everything she said and did in those happy 
days, and could show you every passage and line we 
read together." 

In a brief diary in 1839 Dickens wrote : "We never 
know the full value of blessings till we lose them (we 
were not ignorant of this one when we had it, I hope). 
But if she were with us now, the same winning, happy, 
amiable companion, sympathizing with all my thoughts 
and feelings more than any one I knew ever did or will, 

71 



/ STUDIES IN DICKENS 

I think I should have nothing to wish for, but a con- 
tinuance of such happiness. But she is gone, and pray 
God I may one day, through his mercy, rejoin her." 

On May 8, 1843, Dickens said in a letter to Mrs, 
Hogarth : **After she died, I dreamed of her every 
night for many months — I think for the better part of 
a year — sometimes as a spirit, sometimes as a living 
creature, never v^ith any of the bitterness of my real 
sorrow, but always with a kind of quiet happiness, 
which became so pleasant to me that I never lay down 
at night v/ithout a hope of the vision coming back In 
one shape or another. And so it did. I went down 
into Yorkshire, and finding it still present to me, in a 
strange scene and a strange bed, I could not help 
mentioning the circumstance in a note I wrote home 
to Kate. From that moment I have never dreamed of 
her once, though she is so much in my thoughts at all 
times (especially when I am successful, and have 
prospered in anything) that the recollection of her is 
an essential part of my being and is as inseparable 
from my existence as the beating of my heart is." 



72 



DICKENS THE HUMANITARIAN* 

While the last half of 'Tickwick" was still in 
hand the first half of "Oliver Twist'* was runnings 
and the public's and the publisher's importunate de- 
mands brought "Nicholas Nickleby" pouring from the 
author's pen. With these early novels Dickens entered 
upon the crusade against existing evils which earned 
for him the title of reformer. His social fervor was 
unflagging from the time when he attacked the ma!- 
administration of workhouses in "Oliver Twist" 
and the exploitation of school boys in "Nicholas 
Nickleby" to the period twenty years later, when, after 
explaining his "Christmas philosophy" in "The 
Chimes," and holding up to derision in "Bleak House" 
the delays occasioned by court routine, he disclosed 
in "Little Dorrit" the needless sufferings endured in 
English prisons. His suggestions were not profound, 
since he relied for cure chiefly upon the intervention 
of outside philanthropy, but his disclosures were spir- 
ited and startled the dozing public into a wide-awake 
cooperation with such betterments as were under way. 

James T. Fields, in his "Yesterdays with Authors," 
published soon after Dickens's death, wrote of 
his humanitarian influence: "Twenty years ago 
Daniel Webster said that Dickens had already done 

*By permission of Houghton-Mifflin Company. 
73 



STUDIES IN DICKfiNS 

more to ameliorate the condition of the English poor 
than all the statesmen Great Britain had sent into Par- 
liament. During the unceasing demands upon his time 
and thought, he found opportunities of visiting person- 
ally those haunts of sujflfering in London which needed 
the keen eye and sympathetic heart to bring them be- 
fore the public for relief. Whoever has accompanied 
him, as I have, on his midnight walks into the cheap 
lodging-houses provided for London's lowest poor, 
cannot have failed to learn lessons never to be forgot- 
ten. Newgate and Smithfield were lifted out of their 
abonnnations by his eloquent pen, and many a hospital 
is today all the better charity for having been visited 
and watched by Charles Dickens. To use his own 
words, though his whole life he did what he could 
*to lighten the lot of those rejected ones whom the 
world has too long forgotten and too often misused.' " 

Louis Cazamian, a former student of the ficole Normale 
Superieure, and a Pensiomiairc of the Thiers Foundation, in 
his "Le Roman Social en Angleterre" ("The Social Novel in 
England") makes a study of Dickens's character, environ- 
ment and mental grasp of economic problems as affecting his 
social philosophy which set the world acting wh^le it laughed 
and cried. A translation of the essay in pait follows: 

I 

Dickens is primarily an individual. His opinions 
are based on his experience and his character. Only 
the story of his life can explain the nature of his 
"class feeling" and the complexity of his social atti- 
tude which is made up of tendencies contradictory in 
theory, but united in a bond of sentiment by the man's 
temperament. 

74 



DICKENS THE HUMANITARIAN 

After giving a sketch of the novelist's early life as we 
have seen it outlined by Chesterton, Forster and Marzials, 
Cazamian continues: 

Because his imagmation is filled with the sum of 
this experience, Dickens cannot turn away his mind 
from wretchedness, and social charity seems to him 
the essential task. His aim is to spare men, children 
and families the sufferings that he and his relatives 
underwent. Dickens rejects and condemns economic 
individualism, selfish inactivity, the theory of compe- 
tition — inseparable articles of middle-class radicalism. 
His feeling for the widespread wretchedness which 
the public ignores, makes him wish for social inter- 
vention. 

What form shall this intervention take? It shall be 
adapted to the only conditions that he knew. It shall 
consist of the relief by the individual or by the state 
of the worst suiTering, and of making personal rela- 
tions between citizens more sympathetic. Dickens is 
not familiar with the larger industrialism, the exten- 
sive opposition created by it, the countless relations 
of capital and labor, the collective and national prob- 
lems proposed by industrial concentration. His expe- 
rience gives him. the modes of thought of the lower 
middle class. A better — that is, a more active and 
more paternal — public surveillance over bodies and 
souls, higher pay for laborers and clerks, greater con- 
sideration from the foreman toward the workmen in 
the small shop, from the master toward the apprentices, 
from the rich customer toward the poor shop-keeper — 
such is the form that his social ideal naturallv takes. 



75 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

Public or private philanthropy, the sanitation of the 
sewer of vice that extends under official decency, the 
relief of the humble through the charity of purse or 
heart, will suffice to reestablish justice in society. 

Youth and mature years develop these tendencies 
in parallel lines without reconciling them. Following 
upon the success of "Pickwick" (1837) at the age of 
twenty-five, Dickens enters upon fame and influence. 
He brings to the world in which he lives the aspira- 
tions of the self-made man and the feeling of advance 
inseparably connected with his personal fortune. 
To the very end he will have the impatient zeal for re- 
form which the dominant new class opposes to the in- 
ertia of the old; he will remain a radical, the deter- 
mined opponent of conservatism. Nevertheless a sub- 
tle influence unconsciously determines his social atti- 
tude toward the past. Even in his childhood Dickens 
knew and loved the old form.s of provincial life, the 
accumulated repose of Rochester and Canterbury. In 
London he lived amid surroundings of the lower mid- 
dle class and the miseries from which he sufi'ered 
sympathetically were not those connected with the 
larger industrialism.. * ^ * He learns among the 
most sm.iling scenes of agricultural England, as he did 
among the artisans and the proletariat of London, that 
joyful benevolence in human relations is the sufficient 
condition for social happiness, that is why his evan- 
gel holds a reactionary element just as his novels give 
us an old-time view of England. 

At the same time certain influences separate Dick- 
ens little by little from democracy. From 1831 to 1836, 



76 



DICKENS THE HUMANITARIAN 

between his journeys, he is present at the sessions of 
the House of Commons and makes shorthand reports 
of the speeches. This initiation into parliamentary 
customs does not inspire in him respect for represen- 
tative government. Politicians, elections, party in- 
trigues, always will be a matter for gay or serious 
satire in his novels. In 1842 his trip to America se- 
verely shakes his firmness as a radical. * * * About 
the same time Dickens begins to come under the influ- 
ence of Carl3de. ^^ * * The philosopher's diatribes 
against administrative routine, the slowness of offices, 
the incapacity of political and social organizations 
pass at their face value with the novelist. The weak- 
ness of the English government at the time of the war 
with the Crimea arouses public indignation; Dickens 
unites with Carlyle in denouncing the irresponsibility 
of the administration. The democratic ideal emerges 
somewhat the worse for these attacks. All these in- 
fluences unconsciously remove Dickens from radical 
and middle class individualism; they lead him, on the 
contrary, to the extreme of interventionism. * * * 
Because he is a radical, he never thinks that he is 
entirely at one with the economists, nor with the con- 
servatives because his tendency is toward socialism. 
At the same time and often in the same works, he com- 
bats official economics and the party of political reac- 
tion. Young England, in spite of its social aspirations, 
finds no favor with him. * * * The possible con- 
tradiction of his social tendencies would not have been 
evident if he had not formulated them and pushed 
them to their limit. Instinctive and vague as they are 
they agree with each other because of their emotional 

77 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 
harmony. Dickens is justly a noteworthy figure because 
of this preponderance of sentiment over intelligence. 
It should be observed, however, that the democratic 
ideal, as such, is never very active in his work, and is 
wiped out with time. * * * 

After having considered the influences of environ- 
ment we are brought to the man himself. Neither the 
school of suffering nor that of Carlyle would have 
made a social apostle of Dickens without the reaction 
of his temperament. English literature gives us few 
more finished examples of the imaginative-emotional 
type. To the power of heaping up images, of enrich- 
ing them, and of surpassing reality with its own ele- 
ments, is added their sentimental idealization, the har- 
monious union of the inner perception with 
all the gamut of emotions. No artist was n^ore 
capable of registering the concrete aspects of 
things nor more incapable of not coloring them 
with his own systematic or hostile judgment. 
Reality is reflected in him only in sentimental im»ages. 
The whole problem of the realism of Dickens, the 
singular mixture of objectivity and of romanticism 
that his w^ork oflfers us, would be explained by an 
analysis of the connection between his im.agination 
and his sensibility. 

The latter has an individual quality, a particular 
stamp: its natural reaction is tender and gay. It re- 
quires acts of serious injustice, moral baseness, crime, 
to stir the feelings to irritation or indignation, until 
it accuses and condemns in vehement tones. More 
often moral or physical defects, abnormalities, the ex- 
cusable faults of men and things awaken indolent 
raillery, gentle reproach, a tearful smile. * <« * 

78 



DICKENS THE HUMANITARIAN 

Dickens's temperament, his sensitiveness, his Chris- 
tianity, explain the inner change which transformed 
his personal or sympathetic experience of wretchedness 
by irresistible advance into a social sermon, now im- 
passioned and lively, sometimes tragic — always confi- 
dent. 

This mission comes unbidden. Doubtless the first 
novel in which Dickens openly tries to act, "Oliver 
Twist," owes something to "Paul Clifford.'' In spite 
of the differences of inspiration, the similarity of sub- 
ject is too striking to be due to chance; we know, be- 
sides, that the success of "Paul Clifford" had made 
criminal literature fashionable; the choice of a sub- 
ject, if not the heart of the story was suggested to 
Dickens by Bulwer's work. But his real masters were 
the novelists of the eighteenth century, Smollett and 
Sterne, and, above all, Goldsmith, whose gentle spirit 
shows close kinship with his. Like them, Dickens can- 
not set apart realism from moral purpose. 

As soon as he is master of his freedom and sure of 
his public he instinctively sets about preparing a brief 
for the suffering. Already in the "Sketches by Boz" 
the short detached scenes of London life wherein his 
mettle v/as tried, the trend of his attention is signifi- 
cant: what appeals to him and interests him is life, 
joys and sorrows, virtues and absurdities, the poor and 
the humble. Some subjects even herald the reformer. 
In "Pickwick," in spite of the constraint felt by the 
writer who is bent on being amusing, the serious note 
is not absent, and certain abuses of the penal law are 
vigorously denounced. 

With "Oliver Tv/ist" Dickens begins to play the part 

79 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

of social reformer. He will keep this role to the end 
scrupulously and sincerely, irreproachable in the spirit 
if not always in the letter of his teaching. He wants 
practical usefulness more than literary success. On 
the subject of the praises earned for him by "Oliver 
Twist" he writes: "None that has been lavished on 
me have I felt half so much as that appreciation of 
my intent and meaning." 

The man as well as the writer is intimately concerned 
in the philanthropic movement. From 1840- 1860 Dick- 
ens gives his time and strength indefatigably, associates 
with charitable undertakings, presides over meetings, 
assists Lord Ashley in his crusade against misery and 
vice. The periodicals of which he is editor offer op- 
portunities for interventionist propaganda. He occu- 
pies a unique place in the literature of the time; his 
influence is personal ; his character is known and loved 
by countless readers whom he amuses or consoles. "God 
bless him" is the favorite exclamation of the plain peo- 
ple at the name of Dickens. On Christmas Day he re- 
ceives a thousand gifts, fruits, vegetables. A direct 
bond of sympathy is established between his soul and 
that of the great public which vibrates in response to 
his voice. Whatever may have been the limits of his 
activity, the weakness of his social message, it is im- 
possible not to admire this dominion over minds and 
hearts acquired by the charm and strength of an art 
that is always sincere and an inspiration that is always 
lofty. 

II 

The social teaching of Dickens is scattered through 
his work. The thought of misery, the appreciation of 

80 



DICKENS THE HUMANITARIAN 

human inequality, are never absent from it. Nowhere 
do the lightness of spirit and the happy spontaneity 
of the recital allow the sadness of class struggles to 
be long forgotten. The opposition of rich and poor is 
the sometimes concealed but always present thesis of 
his dramatic and moral work. However, it is possible 
to separate the subjects and the didactic soul, so to 
speak, of the novels, from their narrative or descrip- 
tive matter. For that purpose it is desirable to take 
into consideration not only the patent confessed and 
definite purpose but the thousand suggestions implicit 
in the recounted facts, in the emotion, the choice of 
characters, their fate. For this reason it is possi- 
ble without doing injury to the work, to subject it to 
a systematic analysis. It lends itself to a primary di- 
vision. From 1837-1850, Dickens in all the strength 
of his genius, writes his masterpieces and gives the 
essence of his social teaching. From 1850-1870 the 
works lose at once their literary value and their didac- 
tic interest. Although "Bleak House" (1853), "Hard 
Times'' (1854) and "Little Dorrit" (1857) may in- 
terest us still, the works that follow are negligible. In 
chronology as in spirit, the chief romances of Dickens 
belong to the first period of the Victorian era. * * * 
The Christmas Books contain the whole social 
evangel of Dickens. The shortness of these tales, their 
association with a religious festival, their naturally 
didactic tone make them a vehicle for the gathering 
up and the defining of his thought. One of them, 
the "Chim.es/' may serve to acquaint us with it. The 
choice is not made arbitrarily. Written in 1844, it 
bears at once the stamp of the maturity of Dickens's 

81 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

genius and of the economic crisis of which the year 
1842 is the culminating period. His biographer shows 
him resolved to "strike a blow for the poor/' Dick- 
ens thought long over the undertaking and put his 
whole heart into it. He went back to England from 
Italy in order to lay it before his friends. On the 3rd 
of November, 1844, he read it with abundant success 
before an audience of his intimates, among them Car- 
lyle. Nothing could illustrate better the sympathy be- 
tween these two minds. 

Cazamian here gives a detailed account of "The Chimes," 
of which a summary follows! 

Toby Veck, an old porter, is waiting for patrons 
on the square by the church whose bells give him their 
constant companionship. As he muses on the troubles 
of the poor his daughter, Margaret, a seamstress, 
brings him his dinner of tripe, and tells him that she 
and her betrothed, Richard, have decided to be mar- 
ried the next day, and not to v/ait longer for their con- 
dition to better. As Richard joins them and Toby 
establishes himself upon the steps of a house to eat 
his dinner, the door opens and three gentlemen come 
out. Alderman Cute symbolizes the prosperous classes, 
Mr. Filer, the economists, and a typical John Bull is 
representative of the conservatism that sees no worth 
except in the "good old times." Each of the three 
in his own way attacks poor Toby, the economist 
pointing out that "tripe is more expensive, properly 
understood, than the hot house pineapple," the "red- 
faced gentleman" disclaiming any interest in "a fellow 
like this in such degenerate times as these," and the 
alderman, who has been absent-mindedly consuming 

82 



DICKENS THE HUMANITARIAN 
Toby's dinner, proclaiming his intention of Putting 
Down the hypocrisy of the Poor who talk Nonsense 
about Want, on the ground that he knew better 
the extent and nature of their needs, having 
tasted of the tripe. Having discovered that Margaret 
and Richard are to be married the economist laments 
their lack of wisdom in the face of facts and figures, 
and Cute draws a picture of their future unhappiness. 
The alderman gives Toby a letter to carry to Sir 
Joseph Bowley, the philanthropist, who points out to 
the messenger the duties of the poor. Toby meets 
William Fern, a laborer on St. Joseph Bowley's farm, 
who has narrowly escaped starvation and has come 
to the city to look for work. Toby takes him hom.e 
and Meg cares for the child, Lilian. In the paper the 
old man reads a recital of crimes committed by the 
poor, is overwhelmed by the seeming truth of the ac- 
cusations to which he has been listening all day, and 
crying "We're Bad," stumbles up the stairs of the 
tower and falls fainting among the summoning bells. 

When he awakes strange figures tell him of his 
fault, pointing out his doubt of himself and his de- 
spair of the future. In a vision he sees Margaret and 
Lilian bereft of their natural protectors, toiling until 
Lilian dies in misery. In another scene William Fern 
appears at a garden party given by Sir Joseph Bowley, 
and bursts into a tirade against the law's injustice 
toward the poor man until ''jail's the only home he's 
got," and his spirit is divided from that of the gentle- 
folk. The servants drive him away and the vision 
shows him bidding farewell to Meg and telling her of 
the social war that had been declared in all its stress 
of fire and fury. 

83 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

Again the vision changes and Toby sees Margaret 
driven by wretchedness to the still river that means 
death. In his anguish Toby cries to the bells his un- 
derstanding of their lesson of hope and of trust in what 
the future may bring, and wakes to find Margaret 
beside him sewing on her wedding dress and the 
chimes ringing out the midnight hour. In conclusion 
Dickens urges his readers to *'bear in mind the stern 
realities from which these shadows come/' and to 
''endeavor to correct, improve and soften them. So 
may the New Year be a happy one to you, happy to 
many more whose happiness depends on you V* 
Czamian continues : 

Such is this work, strong in pathos and in emotional 
suggestion. In it are found the artistic habits of Dick- 
ens, the characteristic union of fancy and accurate ob- 
servation, of tender humor and bitter railler}^ of 
comic sprightliness and tragic power. Here are figures 
drawn in clear and rapid outline with traits which ex- 
plain the depth of their nature, such as Toby's jog-trot 
and the alderman's chuckle. Here are assertive exag- 
geration and caricature, and, nevertheless, picturesque 
truth of detail, idealism, of the story as a whole, and 
wide observation of the saddest realities. By com- 
paring this tale with the other Christmas Stories and 
with scattered passages in which Dickens has formu- 
lated his thought carefully it is possible to extract his 
''Christmas Philosophy." It is a vague and senti- 
mental form of Christian socialism. Timid in its posi- 
tive stand, bolder in its criticisms, it preaches interven- 
tionism in the name of religious idealism. Historically 
considered it answers the needs of a society v/hich at 

84 



DICKENS THE HUMANITARIAN 

that time had half disappeared. It is suitable for the 
personal relations of family toil and of the small 
workshop. In this sense it may be called reactionary. 
But from every other point of view it is progressive. 
In a word, Dickens condemns the definite forms taken 
by social reaction. He does not allow himself to be 
led away by the need of philanthropic regulations to the 
point of desiring government care of the people. 

The Christian element diffused throughout the work 
crystallizes here around the festival of Christmas. In 
the first Story it is the birth of Christ which becomes 
the symbol of moral and social renewal. In *'The 
Chimes'' it is the bells, the religious voices of the 
season, which preach to the poor their duties and their 
hopes ; the festival of Christmas is the turning-point of 
the year, the end of a painful past, the beginning of a 
better future. As in the earlier book, it is through an in- 
stinctive feeling of relationship that Dickens wished to 
associate his evangel with this renewal of the soul and 
the season. With profound sympathy he felt and loved 
the sentiment and the overwhelming joy of the great 
fortnight. No one has known better how to express 
the traditional attitude of the whole people. Strong 
in his harmony with the national instinct Dickens made 
a noble effort to enlarge it and to draw from it a 
peaceful solution of social problems. Christmas was 
already the chief religious and family festival of the 
year ; on that day hearts opened, faded and dead emo- 
tions became green again, hearts grew tender, and 
scattered and divided families were united around the 
paternal hearth. "WTiy not also reunite in heart and 
spirit the hostile brothers of the great national family? 

85 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

If the appeal of this day is kindness, why not let kind- 
ness shine beyond the family circle over all, the suf- 
fering, the beaten, the poor and the humble? If ma- 
terial pleasure, luxurious tables, lighted lamps, trees 
laden with toys, the simple happiness of children, the 
fun of young girls kissed under the mistletoe, are 
wholesome and good because they kindle the joy of liv- 
ing, why not give a thought to those who are suffer- 
ing from hunger and cold on this day? So the Chris- 
tian festival, the occasion of moral change, becomes the 
center whence spreads increased charitable activity. 
The ^'Christmas Stories" show the connection in Dick- 
ens between Christianity and social doctrine. 

The latter is very simple in its positive presentation. 
There exists am.ong men a bond established by the 
moral obligation inseparable from religious sentiment. 
It ought to manifest itself in the active solicitude of 
the members of society one for another, rich and poor 
alike having their duties. The poor possess unsus- 
pected virtues, devotion and sacrifice flourishing among 
them especially. They are better than would be ex- 
pected w^hen they might naturally be worse. But it is 
further necessary that they make the most difficult 
effort of all — they must preserve faith and hope with 
charity; they must fend off despair and social hatred. 
There is need of courageous energy and steadfast hope 
to help the wretched to await the just deserts that the 
future holds for them. They will not come of them- 
selves ; it is the part of the rich, the happy, the power- 
ful to make every effort to correct social injustices. 
How are they to act!* Dickens has no notion of doing 
away with inequality of property; the socialist idea 

86 



DICKENS THE HUMANITARIAN 

seems to have appeared but vaguely in his thought, 
like one of the chimeric dreams of revolt. But the ap- 
peal which the miserable address to the rich has all the 
force of legitimate demand. With the leaders of the 
new philanthropy Dickens recognizes the right to as- 
sistance. The governing classes are responsible for 
social evil ; over the ignorant and weak they hold the 
natural authority of a father over his children. The 
individual and the State must intervene in the life of 
the lower classes; private or pubHc charity, devoted, 
sincere, patient action should bring aid and cure un- 
endingly. The first ''Christmas Story" especially 
teaches these duties of the rich. There is no such thing 
as an indiflferent action or a good intention that is 
useless. From the highest to the lowest all who com- 
mand have charge of souls. Scrooge, the man of af- 
fairs, will have contributed to the social peace if he 
raises the salary of Bob Cratchit, his clerk ; if all em- 
ployers resembled old Fezziwig and treated their work- 
men as comrades there would be less bad feeling. 
Within the limits of the actual order and the existing 
conditions every wound must be healed from the body 
and soul of society. If it is not done the abyss be- 
tween the classes will grow deeper every day and the 
already imminent revolution will embroil both rich 
and poor, h^ * * 

The negative side is clearer. It attacks two adver- 
saries. One is "stupid'' conservatism, the party of 
pure routine, reactionary through instinct and ego- 
tism. Here Dickens's radicalism appears in his revolt 
against haughty and domineering philanthropy. Among 
hypocritical and empty forms of charity he places aris;^"^^ 

87 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

tocratic socialism; Sir Joseph Bowley undoubtedly 
belongs to Young England. But it is not in this sense 
that Dickens makes his chief effort. He has been 
shocked by the insulting behavior of feudal benevo- 
lence ; at bottom he does not think it essential that the 
people should be enfranchised; he believes with Car- 
lyle that preservation should come from above. One 
must recall his friendship with Lord Ashley and notice 
that the campaign of the ''Corn Law League," that 
notably radical and middle-class movement, has no 
place in his novels. The reason is because it is the 
work of the radical individualists, and individualism 
is the enemy against whom Dickens has sworn the 
most determined hostility. In all its forms — economic 
dogmatism, utilitarian theory, middle class usage — it is 
alwa3^s the same thing that he denounces and combats. 
He hates it from instinct as the social expression of 
an inner barrenness of which his emotional tempera- 
ment is the opposite; he hates it from sentiment, as 
contrary to moral life and Christianity; he hates it 
from reason, in such degree as he does reason, as the 
theory of egotism. In Filer's application of mathematics 
to life, he divines rather than sees a dangerous theo- 
retical exaggeration; and the practical "good sense'' 
of the alderman, the cold and pitiless glimpse of ma- 
terial interests, seems to him a moral impoverishment 
of like kind and like effect. His intuition makes him 
feel the bond between the drying up of the soul in 
men of business, and the tyranny of a narrow ab- 
stract idea among economists. Incapable of refuting 
the latter he attacks the former. Dickens's work is a 
tremendous effort to destroy indifference in the public 



DICKENS THE HUMANITARIAN 

mind and to replace it by ideas of sentimental interven- 
tionism. This aspect of his teaching, however, is dis- 
cernible in his text only after study. Dickens has had 
but a half-consciousness of his most profitable tactics; 
we shall study his struggle against individualism by 
examining the meaning hidden in his novels. 

The Christmas philosophy is an intense but vague 
sort of social altruism. Dickens put into It the quali- 
ties of his soul and the insufficiencies of his intellect. 
But if he did not study economic problems, and if pol- 
itics, as his biographer says, was always a sentiment 
and an interest with him, he possessed in compensa- 
tion the artistic gift of vision and the imaginative sensi- 
bility which perceives in every instance of suffering 
the sum of human wretchedness. He could feel to the 
uttermost special forms of social distress and could 
give them a relief so potent that all eyes were forced 
to see them. By his vigorous criticism of certain 
abuses Dickens contributed largely to the philan- 
thropic purification of English life. 

As is natural, it is the most definite presentations 
which acted most beneficially on facts. "Nicholas 
Nickleby'' lessened the worst effect of the disregaid 
of the vState toward public instruction. The Yorkshire 
schools had a bad reputation : Dickens had heard them 
talked about from his childhood, and the impression 
that he received never was effaced. "I was always 
curious about Yorkshire schools — fell, long afterwards 
and at sundry times, into the way of hearing more 
about them — at last, having an audience, resolved to 
write about them." It is evident that the desire to 
teach is the source of the novel. Dickens gathered 

89 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

material, made a trip to Yorkshire, and hunted up in 
the newspapers reports of suits brought against 
schoolmasters. He devotes the first part of the book 
to the question. The life of the *'young gentlemen" 
at Dotheboys Hall, the refined brutality of Squeers, 
the suflferings of the usher, told with passionate yet 
tender art, softened by the charm of irresistible hu- 
mor, had a magical eflfect upon public opinion. Atten- 
tion was awakened on all sides; the worst schools 
were forced to close their doors. At that time (1839) 
the control of education by the State began, and the 
insignificant budget of public instruction was increased. 
The movement, favored by a thousand influences, never 
will stop. ''There were, then, a good many cheap 
Yorkshire schools in existence. There are very few 
now," Dickens wrote in 1867. 

In like manner, Mrs. Sarah Gamp and Mrs. Betsy 
Prig, the ever-to-be-remembered sick-nurses of "Mar- 
tin Chuzzlewit," have been types ever since the publica- 
tion of the novel ; their coarseness, their drunkenness, 
their worse than mediocre skill, their cynical exploita- 
tion of sickness and death w^ere impressed on the public 
notice as truths too long despised. Private initiative or 
the action of the public authorities undertook thereafter 
to remedy the evil and succeeded. The body of nurses 
today is one of the most admirable instruments of 
social charity in England. 

Especially in the domain of the law was Dickens's 
action efficacious. The penal code, the penitentiary 
system, court practice, have his constant attention. 
His experience gave him an intimate knowledge of the 
subject. These questions, we have seen, were in the 

00 



DICKENS THE HUMANITARIAN 

air ; Dickens's strong point is not invention and initia- 
tive; he lent the weight of his incomparable Hterary 
influence to reforms that were already begun, and there 
is no doubt that he hastened their achievement. He 
often denounced the cruelty of the penal code, more 
often still, the unequal severity of the laws toward 
rich and poor. We have quoted the protestation of 
Fern in "The Chimes.'' "Hard Times" discusses 
frankly the question of divorce — is it just that this 
should be a privilege of wealth? "Oliver Twist" is a 
long plea against the needless severities of the law 
toward the wretched. Dickens did much to suppress 
in England the publicity of capital executions. An 
episode in "Dombey and Son" arouses pity for the 
fate of the girl basely led astray and abandoned, who 
has killed her child and whom society condemns. Such 
subjects recur insistently; we know from other sources 
how the penal law Avas modified on lines parallel with 
Dickens's work. 

No one contributed as much as he to the reform of 
debtors' prisons. In cases of "insolvency" as distinct 
from those of bankruptcy, the person of the debtor 
was seized and his future earnings belonged to the 
creditors. The condition of the prisons was beyond 
belief ; the law did not guarantee the smallest material, 
hygenic, or moral comfort to the unfortunates shut up 
there. Public opinion already was stirred; the Court 
estabhshed by the Act of 1813 had freed 50,000 debt- 
ors in thirteen years. Dickens's father had profited 
by it, after a sojourn in the "Marshalsea" where his 
son shared his life for some time. But the number 
of prisoners remained very great. In 1827, in London 

91 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 
alone, 6,000 persons were arrested for debt. The 
Civil Law Commissioners in 1830, declared well- 
founded the ^'outspoken and wide-spread complaints" 
against the insolvency law. It was then that Dickens 
stepped in. The gnawing dulness of a life without hope 
or purpose, the relaxation of energy, the misery, the 
physical ruin, the demoralizing spectacle of favors 
granted to rich debtors, the whole indefinable cruelty 
of the system, are presented by him with all the force 
of truth. The stay of Mr. Pickwick in one of the Lon- 
don prisons, the "Fleet,'* gives a pretext for a lively 
description, comJc and tragic, of this strange gathering. 
'*We still leave unblotted in the leaves of our statute 
book, for the reverence and admiration of succeeding 
ages, the just and wholesome law which declares that 
the sturdy felon shall be fed and clothed, and that the 
penniless debtor shall be left to die of starvation and 
nakedness." Later, in "Little Dorrit," Dickens re- 
turned to this theme, and made evident to thousands 
of readers the moral agony of the prisoners in the 
"Marshalsea." But he was already speaking of the 
past, for a reform followed close upon the publica- 
tion of "Pickwick" (1837). I" ^838 a measure was 
proposed to modify the rigor of the law: it failed 
almost entirely. After repeated efforts Cottenham 
succeeded in 1844 in equalizing, up to a certain point, 
the lot of "debtors" with that of "bankrupts." 

Court procedure and the faults of lawyers as a 
class find a pitiless critic in Dickens. Today public 
opinion is approving him unanimously. In "Pickwick" 
the characters of Dodson and Fogg, and the immortal 
suit of Bardell versus Pickwick, inspire in the reader 
very small respect for legal rascality and its tools. 

92 



DICKENS THE HUMANITARIAN 

In "Oliver Twist" we see Mr. Fogg, the police offi- 
cer, at work, and his brutal and summary fashion of 
expediting justice is in itself the most eloquent of ad- 
vocates. "The Old Curiosity Shop'' offers us two 
equally characteristic figures, those of the attorney, 
Sampson Brass, and of his sister, Sally, a delightful 
couple, masculine subtlety and feminine astuteness 
in conspiracy against the spirit and the letter of the 
laws. "David Copperfield'' introduces us to the Com- 
mons and to the old judiciary organizations in which 
the m.ost cynical parasitism is perpetuated. Finally, 
"Bleak House" is a formidable accusation against the 
existence, the mode of procedure, and the spirit of the 
Court of Chancery. Here, too, the novelist's severity 
is amply justified by facts. The infinite delays, the 
hea\7' expenses, the obstacles and the endlessly re- 
newed appeals, the frightful complication of the suits, 
have passed into proverb. We know from the preface 
of "Bleak House" and the researches of Forster, that 
the case of Gridley, "the man from Shropshire," is 
the reproduction of a real aflfair. * * * Two an- 
onymous letters, addressed to Dickens in 1859 show to 
what extent public sentiment approved him. ^ ^ ^ 
The effect of the book, though not immediate, was 
felt eventually in the customs of the judiciary; it had 
its part in the reorganization of the superior courts 
in 1873. 

In the other novels the purpose is less definite, the 
abuses imder discussion are more complex. It is hard 
to seize upon any personal action undertaken by Dick- 
ens; his influence is united with all the contemporary 
forces having the same inclination; it entered as an 

93 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

element into the moral make-up of interventionism. 
Wc are reduced to guessing at its existence and its use- 
fuln#ss from testimony which declares the value of his 
work, and its real hold upon minds and consciences, — 
Dickens felt keenly himself and caused to be felt 
keenly the narrow barrier between physical misery and 
moral corruption ; the impossibility of a happy and hon- 
est life in unsanitary localities and in sordid houses 
without air and light and water. The vigorous pages 
of "Oliver Twist" in which modern ''slums" appear, 
mark an epoch in English literature. * * * 

No theme is more frequent with Dickens, no social 
need more quickly awakened in him hatred of selfish 
indifference and of lazy philanthropy. 'J* * * By an 
instinctive reaction Dickens began to desire a return 
to nature, and to sketch the theme that Ruskin was 
to illustrate. Fields, pure air, rustic life, the peace of 
agricultural England gleam here and there in the 
stories like a refreshing and idyllic ray of light. * ^-^^ * 

There is small question in the novels of industrial 
legislation. Dickens was not well acquainted with the 
industries around which the movement was concen- 
trating. Short passages reveal his approval of the 
Factory Acts ; his sympathy unites with his hostility 
against the formulas of the laisses-faire doctrine. A 
single aspect of the problem, with which he was more 
familiar, moved him keenly. The labor of children, 
their exploitation through the selfishness of their fami- 
lies or guardians, their early initiation into suffering, 
rouse his indignant protest. Here personal feeling is 
mixed with pity. Dickens sees his own childhood again 
and grows tender over his own experience. The story 

94 



DICKENS THE HUMANITARIAN 

of ^'Oliver Twist" is symbolic; it sums up imagina- 
tively the suffering of the parish apprentices whose 
type is Robert Blincoe, children of the poor, born in 
workhouses and bound out to manufacturers or arti- 
sans; Frequently the sight of rich children, of their 
happy health, their grace, their games, suggest by 
contrast the wretched existence of others, and Dickens 
pauses to denounce once more the cruel indifference 
of the public authorities. He understood the danger 
that threatens the race and lavishes warnings on the 
stupid people who are unwilling to recognize it. Never 
has the evil been expressed in more dramatic terms 
than in the scene of the "Christmas Carol'' in which 
Scrooge is visited by the specter of the Present. ^' * * 
Not less effective was the appeal that Dickens ad- 
dressed to the pubhc on behalf of social pariahs, the 
abandoned, the vicious and the criminal, vagabonds or 
out-casts, for whom misery, crime, and death are in- 
evitable if a superior force does not step in to save 
them. "Oliver Twist," with an exactness of observa- 
tion superior to that of "Paul Clifford," has shown the 
public a world known only to the police. Jo in "Bleak 
House" represents the restless and obscure products 
of London, the irresponsible, animal, dangerous vic- 
tims of a social order that did not take account of 
them. It is in behalf of this evil in particular that 
Dickens claims State intervention. He brought back 
from America an enthusiastic admJration for enter- 
prises of collective charity, hospitals, asylums, model 
prisons. His determined campaign against adminis- 
trative routine is explained by the need and the desire 
for a more efficacious social organization. At the time 

95 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

of the Crimean War, at the moment when England's 
patriotism was over-excited, national interest, good or- 
der in the State, and philanthropy are closely united, 
in the opinion of Carlyle and Dickens. Social im- 
perialism and the theory of ^'national efficiency'' ap- 
pear in germ, in the novelist. He is thus led to com- 
bat the dangerous excess of false philanthropy. He 
had already attacked moral or religious hypocrisy ; the 
grotesque figures of Stiggins and of Chadband, the 
whole character of Pecksniff show the intensity of this 
hatred which sometimes lays the blame upon the re- 
spectable absurdities of the dissenting sects. It does 
not change its nature v/hen it changes its object, pur- 
suing the solemn benevolence of Sir Joseph Bowley, 
the sentimental and financial speculations of Ralph 
Nickleby, the civilizing monom.ania of Mrs. Jellyby. 
In the fabulous missions to Borrioboola-Gha Dickens 
sees a loss of energy, the dispersal of valuable activity 
too necessary to England for her to squander it else- 
where. 

There were not lacking enemies who offered Dick- 
ens the same reproach. His pretension to being a pro- 
fessor of social morality, his rather aimless incur- 
sions into technical domains, the sometimes hasty and 
superficial nature of his judgments, aroused resistance 
and rancor. He had against him, besides the indi- 
vidualists, the refined spirits who believe that art is 
not to be reconciled with a didactic purpose. Discus- 
sions that were sometimes very lively raged around the 
theses upheld by Dickens. It is impossible today not 
to grant that he was right in the spirit if not always 
in the letter. * * * 

96 



DICKENS THE HUMANITARIAN 

A recognition of social suffering that is profound 
and just because it is intuitive and sympathetic; an 
imperfect grasp of the material conditions whose com- 
plexities surround existing abuses and possible re- 
forms; an imaginative and sentimental exaggeration 
of the qualities that he did understand — such are the 
characteristics of Dickens's philanthropic activity. They 
are closely allied to those of his artistic activity. In 
both he reached, but did not pass beyond, the limits of 
idealization permitted to the writer and to the man of 
action. 



97 



VI 
DICKENS AMONG EDUCATORS''^ 

Dickens was England's greatest educational re- 
former. His views were not given to the world in the 
form of ordinary didactic treatises, but in the form 
of object lessons in the most entertaining of all stories. 
Millions have read his books, whereas but hundreds 
would have read them if he had written his ideals 
in the form of direct, systematic exposition. He is 
certainly not less an educator because his books have 
been widely read. 

The highest form of teaching is the informal, the 
indirect, the incidental. The fact that his educational 
principles are revealed chiefly by the evolution of the 
characters in his novels and stories, instead of by the 
direct philosophic statements of scientific pedagogy or 
psychology, gives Dickens higher rank as an educator, 
not only because it gives him much wider influence, 
but because it makes his teaching more effective by 
arousing deep, strong feeling to give permanency and 
propulsive force to his great thoughts. 

Was Dickens consciously and intentionally an edu- 
cator? The prefaces to his novels; the preface to his 
Household Words, the educational articles he wrote; 
the prominence given in his books to child training in 
homes, institutions, and schools; the statements of the 

*Reprinted from J. L. Hughes's "Dickens as an Educator." 
Copyright, 1900, by D. Appleton & Company. 

c>8 



DICKENS AMONG EDUCATORS 

highest educational philosophy found in his writings; 
and especially the clearness of his insight and the pro- 
foundness of his educational thought, as shown by hts 
condemnation of the wrong and his appreciation of the 
right in teaching and training the child, prove beyond 
question that he was not only broad and true in his 
sympathy with childhood, but that he was a careful 
and progressive student of the fundamental principles 
of education. 

Dickens deals with twenty-eight schools in his writ- 
ings, evidently with definite purposes in each case : 
Minerva House, in "Sketches by Boz;" Dotheboys 
Hall, in "Nicholas Nickleby ;" Mr. Marton's two schools. 
Miss Monflather's school, and Mrs, Wackles's school, 
in "Old Curiosity Shop f Dr. Blimber's school and The 
Grinders' school, in "Dombey and Son ;" Mr. Creakle's 
school, Dr. Strong's school, Agnes's school, and the 
school Uriah Heep attended, in "David Copperfield;" 
the school at which Esther was a day boarder, and Miss 
Donney's school, in "Bleak House ;" Mr. McChoakum- 
child's school, in "Hard Times;" Mr. Wopsle's great 
aunt's school, in "Great Expectations;" the evenins: 
school attended by Charley Hexam, Bradley Head- 
stone's school, and Miss Peecher's school, in "Our 
Mutual Friend;" Phoebe's school, in "Barbox Broth- 
ers;" Mrs. Lemon's school, in "Holiday Romance;" 
Jemmy Lirripers school, in "Mrs. Lirriper's Lodg- 
ings;" the school described in "Tom Tiddler's 
Ground;" the school described in "The Haunted 
House;" Miss Twinkleton's seminary, in "Edwin 
Drood;" the schools of the Stepney Union; The 
Schoolboy's Story ; and Our School. 

99 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

In addition to these twenty-eight schools, he de- 
scribes a real school in ''American Notes," and makes 
brief references to The Misses Nettingall's establish- 
ment, Mr. Cripples's academy, Drowvey and Grim- 
mer's school, the Foundation school attended by George 
Silverman, Scrooge's school, Pecksniff's school for 
architects, Fagin's school for training thieves, and 
three dancing schools, conducted by Mr. Baps, Signor 
Billsmethi, and Mr. Turveydrop. He introduces Mr. 
Pocket, George Silverm.an, and Canon Crisparkle as 
tutors, and Mrs. General, Miss Lane, and Ruth Pinch 
as governesses. Mrs. Sapsea had been the proprietor 
of an academy in Cloisterham. One of the first 
sketches by "Boz" was Our Schoolmaster, and his 
books are full of illustrations of wrong training of 
children in homes, in institutions, and by professional 
child trainers such as Mrs. Pipchin. 

Clearly Dickens intended to reveal the best educa- 
tional ideals, and to expose what he regarded as weak 
or wrong in school methods, and especially in child 
training. 

Dickens w^as the first great English student of the 
kindergarten. His article on 'Infant Gardens," pub- 
lished in Household Words in 1855, ^s one of the most 
comprehensive articles ever written on the kinder- 
garten philosophy. It shows a perfect appreciation of 
the physical, intellectual, and spiritual aims of Froe- 
bel, and a clear recognition of the value of right early 
training and of the influence of free self-activity in 
the development of individual power and character. 

Dickens is beyond comparison the chief English 
apostle of childhood, and its leading champion in se- 

100 



DICKENS AMONG EDUCATORS 

curing a just, intelligent, and considerate recognition 
of its rights by adulthood, which till his time had been 
deliberately coercive and almost universally tyrannical 
in dealing with children. He entered more fully than 
any other English author into sympathy with child- 
hood from the standpoint of the child. Other edu- 
cators and philanthropists have shown consideration 
for children, but Dickens had the perfect sympathy 
with childhood that sees and feels with the child, not 
merely for him. 

Dickens attacked all forms of coercion in child 
training. He discussed fourteen types of coercion, 
from the brutal corporal punishment of Squeers and 
Creakle in schools, of Bumble and the Christian phi- 
lanthropist with the white waistcoat in institutions, 
and of the Murdstones and Mrs. Gargery in homes, 
to the gentle but dwarfing firmness of the dominant 
will of placid Mrs. Crisparkle. He condemned all 
coercion because it prevents the full development of 
selfhood, and makes men negative instead of positive. 

Among the many improvements made in child train- 
ing none is more complete than the change in disci- 
pline. For this change the world is indebted chiefly 
to Froebel and Dickens. Froebel revealed the true 
philosopJiy, Dickens gave it wings; Froebel gave the 
thought, Dickens made the thought clear and strong 
by arousing energetic feeling in harmony with it. 

Thought makes slow progress without a basis of 
feeling. Dickens opened the hearts of humanity in 
sympathy for suffering childhood, and thus gave Froe- 
beFs philosophy definiteness and propulsive power. 
The darkest clouds have been cleared away from child 

lOI 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

life during the past iifty years. Teachers, managers 
of institutions for the care of children, and parents 
are now severely punished by the laws of civilized 
countries for offences against children that were ap- 
proved by the most enlightened Christian philosophy 
at the time of Froebel and Dickens as necessary duties 
essential in the proper training of childhood. 

Dickens helped to break the bonds of the doctrine 
of child depravity. This doctrine had a most depress- 
ing intiuence on educators. It was not possible to 
reverence a child so long as he was regarded as a 
totally depraved thing. Froebel and Dickens did not 
teach that a child is totally divine, but they did be- 
lieve that every child possesses certain elements of di- 
vinity which constitute selfhood or individuality, and 
that if the selfhood is developed in conscious un'ty with 
the Divine Fatherhood the child will attain to com- 
plete manhood. This thought gives the educator a 
new and higher attitude toward childhood. The child 
is no longer a thing to be repressed, but a being to 
be developed. Men are not persistently dwarfed now 
by deliberate efforts to define a blighting consciousness- 
of weakness; they are stimulated to broader effort 
and higher purpose by a true self-consciousness of in- 
dividual power. The philosophy that trains men to 
recognize responsibility for the good in their nature 
is infinitely more productive educationally than that 
which teaches men responsibility for the evil in their 
nature. 

Dickens taught that loving sympathy is the highest 
qualification of a true teacher. He showed this to be 
true by both positive and negative illustrations. Mr. 

102 



DICKENS AMONG EDUCATORS 

Marton, the old schoolmaster in "Old Curiosity Shop/' 
was a perfect type of a sympathetic teacher. Dr. 
Strong was "the ideal of the whole school, for he was 
the kindest of men." Phoebe's school was such a good 
place for the little ones, because she loved them. Like 
Mr. Marton, she had not studied the new systems of 
teaching, but loving sympathy gave her power and 
made her school a place in which the good in human 
hearts grew and blossomed naturally. 

"You are fond of children and learned in the new 
system of teaching them," said Mr. Jackson. 

"Very fond of them," replied Phoebe, "but I know 
nothing of teaching beyond the pleasure I have in it, 
and the pleasure it gives me when they learn. Per- 
haps your overhearing my little scholars sing some 
of their lessons has led you so far astray as to think 
me a good teacher ? Ah, I thought so ! No, I have only 
read and been told about that system. It seems so 
pretty and pleasant, and to treat them so like the 
merry robins they are, that I took up with it in my 
little way." 

She had heard of the kindergarten and had caught 
some of its spirit of sympathy with the child, but she 
did not understand its methods. Jemmy Lirriper re- 
ceived perfectly sympathetic treatment f rom^ Mrs. Lir- 
riper and the Major; Agnes loved her little scholars; 
Esther, who sympathized with everybody, loved her 
pupils, and was beloved by them; and the Bachelor, 
who introduced Mr. Marton to his second school, was 
a genuine boy in his comprehensive sympathy with real, 
boyish boyhood. 

So throughout all his books Dickens pleads for 

103 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

kindly treatment for the child, and for complete sym- 
pathy with him in his childish feelings and interests. 
He gave the" child the place of honor in literature for 
the first time, and he aroused the heart of the Chris- 
tian world to the fact that it was treating the child 
in a very un-Christlike way. He pleaded for a better 
education for the child, for a free childhood, for 
greater liberty in the home and in the school, for 
fuller sympathy especially at the time when childhood 
merges into youth and when the mysteries of life have 
begun to make themselves conscious to the young mind 
and heart. The poorer the child the greater the need 
he revealed. 

Canon Crisparkle, Esther Summerson, Mr. Jam- 
dyce, Joe Gargery, Rose Maylie, Allan Woodcourt, 
Betty Higden, Mr. Sangsby, the Old Schoolmaster, 
the Bachelor, Mrs. Lirriper, Major Jackmann, Doctor 
Marigold, Agnes Wickfield, Mr. George, and Mr. 
Brownlow are types of the people with whom Dickens 
would fill the world — men and women whose hearts 
were overflowing with true sympathy. Esther Summer- 
son is the best type of perfect sympathy to be met 
with in literature. She expressed the central princi- 
ple of Dickens's philosophy regarding sympathy when 
she said: "When I love a person very tenderly in- 
deed my understanding seems to brighten; my com- 
prehension is quickened when my afifection is." 

The need of sympathy with childhood was revealed 
by Dickens most strongly by the cruelty, the coercion, 
and the harshness of such characters as Squeers, 
Creakle, Bumble, the Murdstones, Mrs. Gargery, John 
Willet, Mrs. Pipchin, Mrs. Clennam, and the teachers 
in The Grinders' School. 

104 



DICKENS AMONG EDUCATORS 

Dickens's description of Dr. Blimber's school is the 
most profound criticism of the cramming system of 
teaching that was ever written. He treats the samx 
subject also in ''Hard Times" "Christmas ^Stories/' and 
''A Holiday Romance.'' 

The vital importance of a free, rich childhood, the 
value of the imagination as the basis of intellectual 
and spiritual development, the folly of the Herbartian 
psychology relating to the soul, the error of regarding 
fact-storing as the chief aim of education, and the ter- 
rible evils resulting from the tyranny of adulthood in 
dealing with childhood are all treated very ably in 
''Hard Times," the most advanced and most profound 
of Dickens's works from the standpoint of the edu- 
cator. 

The need of a real childhood, so well expressed in 
Froebel's maxim, "Let childhood ripen in childhood." 
is shown also in "Nicholas Nickleby," "Old Curiosity 
Shop," "Martin Chuzzlewit," "Barnaby Rudge/' 
"Dombey and Son," "Great Expectations," and "Ed- 
win Drood." 

The true reverence for individual selfhood is shown 
in "Dombey and Son," "David Copperfield," "Bleak 
House," "Hard Times," "Little Dorrit," "Our Mutual 
Friend," and "Edwin Drood." 

The wisdom of studying the subject of nutrition ^< 
one of the most important subjects connected with the 
development of children physically, intellectually, and 
morally, and the meanness or carelessness too fre 
quently shown in feeding children, were taught in 
"Oliver Twist," "Old Curiosity Shop," "Martin Chuz- 
zlewit," "Dombey and Son," "David Copperfield," 

105 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

'^Bleak House/' "Great Expectations/' "Edwin Drood/' 
"Christmas Stories/' and "American Notes/' 

Play as an essential factor in education is treated 
in "Martin Chuzzlewit/' "Dombey and Son/' "David 
Copperfield/' and "American Notes." 

The folly of the old practice of attempting to edu- 
cate by polishing the surface of the character, of 
training from without instead of from within, is re- 
vealed in "Bleak House" and "Little Dorrit." 

"Bleak House" discusses the contents of children's 
minds and the need of early experiences to form ap 
perceptive centers of feeling and thought in a compre- 
hensive and suggestive manner. 

The need of practising the fundamental law of co- 
operation and the sharing of responsibilities and duties, 
as the foundation for the true comprehension of the 
law of community is shown in "Barnaby Rudge/' 
"David Copperfield," "Dombey and Son," and "Little 
Dorrit." 

The need of child study is suggested in "David Cop- 
perfield" and "Bleak House." 

The value of joyousness in the development of true, 
strong character is discussed in "Nicholas Nickleby/' 
"Barnaby Rudge," "Old Curiosity Shop," "Martin 
Chuzzlewit," "Dombey and Son," "David Copper- 
field," "Hard Times," "Little Dorrit," "Great Expecta- 
tions," and "Edwin Drood." 

Dickens was one of the first Englishmen to see the 
need of normal schools to train teachers, and to advo- 
cate the abolition of uninspected private schools and 
the establishment of national schools. He taught these 
ideals in the preface of "Nicholas Nickleby/' issued 

io6 



DICKENS AMONG EDUCATORS 

in 1839, so that he very early caught the spirit of Mann 
and Barnard in America, and saw the wisdom of their 
efforts to estabUsh schools supported, controlled, and 
directed by the state. 

He says, in his preface to ''Nicholas Nickleby/' 
''Of the monstrous neglect of education in England, 
and the disregard of it by the state as a means of 
forming good or bad citizens, and miserable or happy 
men, this class of schools long afforded a notable ex- 
ample. Although any man who had proved his unfit- 
ness for any other occupation in Hfe, was free, without 
examination or qualification, to open a school any- 
where; although preparation for the functions he un- 
dertook was required in the surgeon who assisted to 
bring a boy into the world, or might one day assist, 
perhaps, to send him out of it ; in the chemist, the at- 
torney, the butcher, the baker, the candlestick-maker; 
the whole round of crafts and trades, the schoolmas- 
ter excepted; and although schoolmasters, as a race, 
w^ere the blockheads and impostors who might natur- 
ally be expected to spring from such a state of things, 
and to flourish in it, these Yorkshire schoolmasters 
were the lowest and most rotten round in the whole 
ladder. Traders in the avarice, indifference, or im- 
becility of parents, and the helplessness of children; 
ignorant, sordid, brutal men, to whom few considerate 
persons would have intrusted the board and lodging of 
a horse or a dog; they formed the worthy cornerstone 
of a structure which, for absurdity and magnificent 
high-handed laissez-aller neglect, has rarely been ex- 
ceeded in the world. 

107 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

''We hear sometimes of an action for damages 
against the unquaHfied medical practitioner, who has 
deformed a broken Hmb in pretending to heal it. But 
what about the hundreds of thousands of minds that 
have been deformed forever by the incapable petti- 
foggers who have pretended to form them? 

*'I make mention of the race, as of the Yorkshire 
schoolmasters, in the past tense. Though it has not 
yet finally disappeared, it is dwindling daily. A long 
day's work remains to be done about us in the way 
of education, Heaven knows ; but great improvements 
and facilities toward the attainment of a good one 
have been furnished of late years.'' 

This leaves no doubt in regard to the conscious 
purpose of Dickens in writing with definite educa- 
tional plans. 

Incidentally he discusses every phase of what is 
called the ''new education." He was the first and the 
greatest English student of Froebel, and his writings 
gave wings to the profound thought of the greatest 
philosopher of childhood. Froebel revealed the truth 
that feeling is the basis of thought. In harmony w^ith 
this great psychological principle, it may fairly be 
claimed that the works of Dickens so fully aroused 
the heart of the civilized world to the wrongs inflicted 
on childhood, and the grievous errors committed in 
training children, as to prepare the minds of all who 
read his books for the conscious revelation of the 
imperfections of educational systems and methods, and 
the imperative need of radical educational reforms. 

The intense feeling caused by the writings of Dick- 
ens prepared the way for the thought of Froebel. 

io8 



DICKENS AMONG EDUCATORS 

Dickens studied Froebel with great care. He was not 
merely a student of theoretical principles, but he was 
a very frequent visitor to the first kindergarten opened 
in England. Madame Kraus-Boelte, who assisted 
Madame Ronge in the first kindergarten opened in 
London, says in a recent letter: "I remember very 
distinctly the frequent visits made by Mr. Dickens 
to Madame Rouge's kindergarten. He always ap- 
peared to be deeply interested, and would sometimes 
stay during the whole session.'' 

The description of the schools of the Stepney 
Union in the ''Uncommercial Traveler" shows how 
keenly appreciative Dickens was of all true new ideals 
in educational work. These were charity schools con- 
ducted on an excellent system. The pupils worked 
at industrial occupations half of their school hours, 
and studied the other half. They were taught music, 
and the boys had military drill and naval training. 
They had no corporal punishment in these schools. 

Dickens approved most heartily of everything he 
saw in his frequent visits to the schools of the Stepney 
Union except the work of one of the younger teach- 
ers, who would, in his opinion, have been better "if she 
had shown more geniality.'' He commended the in- 
dustrial work, the military training, the naval train- 
ing, the music, the discipline without corporal punish- 
ment, and the intellectual brightness of the children. 
He pointed out at some length the difference in inter- 
est shown by the pupils in these schools and by the 
pupils in the school he himself attended when a boy, 
and drew the conclusion very definitely that shorter 
hours of study, with a variety of interesting opera- 

109 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

tions, were much better for the physical and intellectual 
development of children than long hours spent in 
monotonous work. 

The folly and wrong of trying to make children 
study beyond the fatigue point was never more clearly 
pointed out than by Dickens in the description of the 
school he attended when a boy, given as a contrast 
to the life and brightness and interest shown in the 
schools of the Stepney Union: 

''When I was at school, one of seventy boys, I won- 
der by what secret understanding our attention began 
to wander when we had pored over our books for some 
hours. I wonder by what ingenuity we brought on that 
confused state of mind when sense became nonsense, 
when figures wouldn't work, when dead languages 
wouldn't construe, when live languages wouldn't be 
spoken, when memory wouldn't come, when dulness 
and vacancy wouldn't go. I cannot remember that we 
ever conspired to be sleepy after dinner, or that we 
ever particularly wanted to be stupid, and to have 
flushed faces and hot, beating heads, or to find blank 
hopelessness and obscurity this afternoon in what 
would become perfectly clear and bright in the fresh- 
ness of tomorrow morning. We suffered for these 
things, and they made us miserable enough. Neither 
do I remember that we ever bound ourselves, by any 
secret oath or other solemn obligation, to find the seats 
getting too hard to be sat upon after a certain time, 
or to have intolerable twitches in our legs, rendering 
us aggressive and malicious with those members ; or to 
be troubled with a similar uneasiness in our elbows, 
attended with fistic consequences to our neighbors; 

IIO 



DICKENS AMONG EDUCATORS 

or to carry two pounds of lead in the chest, four 
pounds in the head, and several active bluebottles in 
each ear. Yet, for certain, we suffered under those 
distresses, and were always charged at for laboring 
under them, as if we had brought them on of our own 
deliberate act and deed." 

It was therefore out of a full heart and an enriched 
mind that Dickens wrought the wonderful plots into 
which he wove the most advanced educational ideals of 
his time and our time relating to the blighting influ- 
ence of coercion, the divinity in the child, the recogni- 
tion of freedom as the truest process and highest aim 
of education, the value of real sympathy, the import- 
ance of self-activity, the true reverence for the child 
leading to faith in it, the need of child study, the ef- 
fect of joyousness on the child's development, the 
benefits of play, the influence of nutrition, the ideal of 
community, the importance of the imagination as a 
basis for the best intellectual growth, the narrowness 
of utilitarianism, the absolute need of apperceptive 
centers to which shall be related the progressive en- 
largement and enrichment of feeling and thought 
throughout the Hfe of the individual, the arrest of 
development and the sacrifice of power and life due 
to cramming, and the weakness of all educational sys- 
tems and methods that regard fact-storing as the high- 
est work of the teacher. 

It has been said by critics of Dickens that he exag- 
gerated the defects and errors in the characters of 
those whom he described. Two things should be kept 
in mind, however. Dickens usually described the 
worst, not the best types, and he was justified in re- 
in 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

vealing a wrong principle or practice in the strongest 
possible light, in order to make it more easily recog- 
nizable and more completely repugnant to the aroused 
feeling and startled thought of humanity. He was 
writing with the definite purpose of making the world 
so thoroughly hate the wrong in education and child 
training as to lead to definite practical reforms. 

Dickens himself did not admit the justness of the 
charge of exaggeration. His coarsest, most ignorant, 
and most brutal teacher is Squeers, yet he says "Mr. 
Squeers and his school are faint and feeble pictures 
of an existing reality, purposely subdued and kept 
down lest they should be deemed impossible. There 
are upon record trials at law in which damages have 
been sought as a poor recompense for lasting agonies 
and disfigurements inflicted upon children by the treat- 
ment of the master in these places, involving such of- 
fensive and foul details of neglect, cruelty, and disease 
as no writer of fiction would have the boldness to im- 
agine. Since the author has been engaged upon these 
Adventures he has received, from private quarters far 
beyond the reach of suspicion or distrust, accounts of 
atrocities, in the perpetration of which upon neglected 
or repudiated children these schools have been the 
main instruments, very far exceeding any that appear 
in these pages." 

Dickens discusses the charge of exaggeration in the 
preface to ''Martin Chuzzlewit." He says: 

''What is exaggeration to one class of minds and 
perceptions, is plain truth to another. That which is 
commonly called a long-sight, perceives in a prospect 
innumerable features and bearings non-existent to a 

112 



DICKENS AMONG EDUCATORS 

short-sighted person. I sometmies ask myself whether 
there may occasionally be a difference of this kind be- 
tween some writers and some readers: whether it is 
always the writer who colors lightly, or whether it is 
now and then the reader whose eye for color is a little 
dulP 

''On this head of exaggeration I have positive ex- 
perience more curious than the speculation I have just 
set down. It is this : I have never touched a character 
precisely from life, but some counterpart of that char- 
acter has incredulously asked me: 'Now, really, did I 
ever really see one like it?' 

"All the Pecksniff family upon earth are quite 
agreed, I believe, that Mr. Pecksniff is an exaggeration, 
and that no such character ever existed." 

It is worth remembering, too, that it is impossible 
to exaggerate the description of the effects of the evils 
Dickens attacked. Coercion in any form blights and 
dwarfs the true selfhood of the child. The coercion 
of Mrs. Crisparkle's placid but unbending will, which 
she kept rigid from a deep conviction of Christian 
duty, is as clearly at variance with the elemental laws 
of individual freedom and growth by self-activity as 
the more dreadful forms of coercion practised by 
Squeers, Creakle, Bumble, or Murdstone. 

Doctor Blimber's cramming is not exaggerated. It 
would be quite possible to find in England or the 
United States or Canada not only private but public 
institutions in which similar processes of illogical 
cramming are still practised. Words are still given be- 
fore the thought, and as a substitute for thought. 
"Mathematical gooseberries" are yet produced "from 

113 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

mere sprouts of bushes/' the *'words and grammar'* 
of Hterature are still given instead of the life and glory 
of the author's revelations, children yet are ''made 
to bear to pattern somehow or other/' 

Whether Dickens exaggerated or not in regard to 
other spheres of work or of existence without work, 
he certainly did not exaggerate in regard to school con- 
ditions. He studied them faithfully, and described 
them truly. He saw wrongs more clearly than other 
men, and he made them stand out in their natural 
hideousness. 

It is frequently asserted that Dickens portrayed 
wrong training more than right, that he was destruc- 
tive rather than constructive. In a sense, this is cor- 
rect. His mission was to startle men, so that they 
would be made conscious of the awful crimes that were 
being committed by teachers and parents in the name 
of duty, as conceived by the highest Christi^ civiliza- 
tion of his time. He knew that a basis of strong feel- 
ing must be aroused against a wrong before it can be 
overthrown and right practices substituted for it. The 
only sure foundation for any reform is an energetic 
feeling of dislike for present conditions. The chief 
work of Dickens was to lay bare the injustice, the 
meanness, and the blighting coercion practiced on 
helpless children not only by ''ignorant, sordid, brutal 
men called schoolmasters,'* but in a less degree by 
the best teachers and parents of his time. His was a 
noble work, and it was well done. 

The grandest movement of the nineteenth century 
was the development of a profound reverence for the 
child, so deep and wide that his rights are beginning 

114 



DICKENS AMONG EDUCATORS 

to be clearly recognized by individuals and by national 
laws, and that intelligent adulthood is studying him as 
the central element of power in the representation of 
God in the accomplishment of the progressive evolu- 
tion of the race. Christ put "the child in the midst 
of his disciples ;' ' men are learning to follow his exam- 
ple, and study the child as the surest way to secure in- 
dustrial, social, and moral reforms. Froebel and Dick- 
ens were the men who revealed the child. They were 
the true apostles of childhood. It must not be sup- 
posed that Dickens was not conscious of the positive 
good while describing the evils. The expressions 
"child queller,'' ''gospel of monotony," "bear to pat- 
tern," "taught as parrots are," etc., and the name "Mc- 
Choakumchild," reveal the possession of the highest 
consciousness of child freedom, of individuality, and 
of child reverence yet given to humanity. So in all 
his wonderful pictures it would have been impossible 
for him to have so vividly described the wrong if he 
had not clearly understood the right. He had perfect 
sympathy with childhood, he was a great student of the 
child and of the existing methods of training and edu- 
cating him, and his insights and judgment were so 
clear and true that, as Ruskin says, "in the last analy- 
sis he was always right." 

If he had never written anything but his article on 
the kindergarten, published July, 1855, he would have 
proved himself to be an educational philosopher. 



X15 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

SYNOPSIS OF '"OLIVER TWIST'* 

"The Adventures of Oliver Twist" are placed in the low- 
est stratum of English society,— among the thieves, black- 
guards, and parish poor, who are depicted in their repulsive 
reality without the false glamor often lent by romancers and 
librettists. The person of the innocent boy Oliver is shown 
in conjunction with, but unpolluted by, vice and crime. He 
may be regarded as a lay figure established for the sake of 
parallel. To quote the author, *T wished to show, in little 
Oliver, the principle of Good surviving through every adverse 
circumstance, and triumphing at last." 

In the workhouse of a certain town, about seventy- five 
miles from London, a poor erring young woman, evidently 
of the better class, but wearing no v/edding-ring, finds refuge, 
and soon after gives birth to a boy, named by the parish 
beadle, Oliver Twist. The mother does not survive; and the 
infant takes his place among the half-starved children of the 
workhouse orphanage, being systematically ill-treated there 
until he is nine years old, when Bumble, the beadle, removes 
him again to the workhouse proper where he is put to work 
picking oakum. The food rations, largely gruel, are dealt out 
so sparingly that the hungry boys cast lots as to who shall 
ask for more. The choice falls to Oliver, and his meek re- 
quest brings him into disgrace with the "board." They let 
him out as apprentice to Sowerberry, an undertaker. He 
stays here but a short time until a victorious fight with Noah 
Claypole, a bullying apprentice older than himself, again 
brings him into disgrace and punishment, when Oliver, now 
about ten years old, runs away to London. 

On the outskirts of the town the weary child is encoun- 
tered by Jack Dawkins, otherwise known as the "Artful 
Dodger," a boy pickpocket in the em.ploy of Fagin, a Jew. 
Oliver is brought to the Jew and an effort is made to teach 
him "the trade." The innocent boy suspects no wrong until 
taken out on an expedition with Dawkins and Charley Bates, 
another of the gang. The two thieves pick a gentleman's 
pocket, and the astounded Oliver runs away on seeing the 

♦From "Synopses of Dickens's Novels," by J. Walker Mc- 
Spadden. Thomas Y. Crowell and Compan3^ 

ii6 



DICKENS AMONG EDUCATORS 

deed — an unlucky move for him, since he is suspected, pur- 
sued, captured, and taken before a magistrate. He is re- 
leased on evidence, however, and Mr. Brownlow, the gentle- 
man whose pocket has suffered, takes him to his home and 
befriends him. 

But Fagin and his gang do not intend to let Oliver escape 
them, as he is possessed of their secrets. Through the in- 
strumentality of Nancy, a girl of the streets, and her lover, 
Bill Sikes, a ruffianly house-breaker identified with Fagin, the 
boy is captured and brought back to the Jew's den. He is 
forced to go on a house-breaking expedition with Sikes, in 
order to put him in the law-breaking class and thus close his 
mouth. The burglary is a failure. Oliver is wounded and left 
lying in a ditch by Sikes. The next morning the boy manages 
to reach the same house which the robbers had attacked. The 
inmates, Mrs. Maylie and her adopted niece, Rose, believe his 
story of innocence and with their surgeon friend. Dr. Los- 
berne, care for him during his illness and throw the detectives 
off the scent. They become greatly attached to their protege, 
and the grateful lad continues to live with them. 

Their joint happiness receives a shock in the critical illness 
of Rose, a beautiful girl of seventeen, who, however, recov- 
ers. Her illness brings upon the scene Harry Maylie, son of 
Mrs. Maylie. The young man renews his suit for Rose's hand, 
but the girl refuses him because of a blot in her family his- 
tory. 

The Jew again searches out Oliver's retreat, being sec- 
onded by Monks, a mysterious persecutor of the boy. Plots 
are laid against Oliver's welfare, when his cause finds an 
unexpected champion in Nancy, who at great risk acquaints 
Rose with the situation. Rose reveals the conspiracy to Mr. 
Brownlow, Oliver's earlier friend, and they hold another in- 
terview v/ith Nancy. The latter is followed at this time by 
Noah Claypole, now a spy for Fagin, who tells the Jew and 
Sikes of the girl's defection. The infuriated Sikes rushes 
to his sweetheart, and although she truthfully protests that 
she has shielded him from discovery and is faithful to him still 
he brutally murders her with a club. The man then takes 

117 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

flight, followed by his dog, a close companion of his hitherto. 
But after dodging about the country, the reckless murderer 
comes back to London, deeming that the best place to hide. 
A great hue and cry has meantime been raised, urged by Mr. 
Brownlow. Sikes is traced partly by the sight of his dog, 
and in attempting to escape his pursuers he hangs himself. 

The entire gang is broken up at this time through evi- 
dence in Mr. Brownlow's hands. Fagin is tried and executed, 
dying as meanly as he had lived. Dawkins had previously been 
transported, and Bates reforms. Noah turns state evidence 
and thus escapes. No direct evidence holds Monks; but Mr. 
Brownlow chances to know the true facts of his career, and 
extorts a confession from him, showing him to be the half 
brother of Oliver, the latter being a natural son. The father 
is dead, but his will provided also for Oliver. For this reason 
Monks has been aiding Fagin, his agent, to ruin the lad. By 
Monks's statement it is also revealed that Rose Maylic is the 
sister of Oliver's mother, and that Rose's own name is free 
from stain. 

Monks is permitted to take his portion of the legacy and 
go to America, where he falls into further evil and dies in 
prison. Rose consents, after her past history is cleared, to 
become Mrs. Harry Maylie. Oliver is adopted by Mr. Brown- 
low; and they with the Maylies and their stanch friends, the 
surgeon Losberne and the eccentric Grimwig, — not to ignore 
the faithful Maylie servants, Giles and Brittle — form a con- 
genial village community bound together by the closest ties 
of affection. 

No other characters are important enough to demand out- 
line here, unless they be Mr. and Mrs. Bumble. This beadle, 
the oppressor of Oliver's youth, pursues his career as bully 
of the poor, until he marries the workhouse matron and joins 
the ranks of the henpecked. The worthy pair are shown 
to be implicated in the plot against Oliver and later lose their 
offices. They sink into poverty and end as inmates of the 
workhouse where they formerly reigned. 



Ii8 



DICKENS AMONG EDUCATORS 

SYNOPSIS OF "NICHOLAS NICKLEBY*^* 

The germinal idea of "Nicholas Nickleby" was that of at- 
tack against the cheap schools of Yorkshire, where unpro- 
tected boys were placed under cruel incompetent masters. 
The story expanded from this idea into the adventures of a 
young man during the first months when he started out in the 
world for himself. 

Ralph Nickleby, a grasping money-lender of London, has 
an only brother who dies at the outset of the narrative, leaving 
a wife, a son Nicholas, about nineteen and a daughter Kate, 
slightly younger. These three, having no other relations to 
turn to, come to London to obtain needed assistance from 
Ralph. The old miser, however, has no intention of doing 
them, or anybody else, a kindness, yet grudgingly and dic- 
tatorially takes certain steps in their behalf. From the first 
he and the high-spirited Nicholas clash, and in revenge he 
procures a situation for the 3^oung man in a Yorkshire 
boarding school for boys, run by Wackford Squeers. This 
pedagogue, a brutal and untutored man with one eye, is as- 
sisted by a worthy helpmate, Mrs. Squeers, who presides over 
the brimstone and treacle bowl in "Dotheboys Hall," a 
wretched and cheerless building", where only the pretence of 
teaching is kept up, and the boys are systematically mistreated 

Nicholas holds his new position as instructor at "Dothe- 
boys Hall" as long as he can for the sake of his mother and 
sister, but the brutality of Squeers proves tco much for him 
at last. Smike, a poor simple-minded drudge, runs away 
from school, and on being recaptured is on the point of get- 
ting an unmerciful beating. Nicholas interposes in his behalf. 
The infuriated master turns upon him, and is promptly 
knocked down and soundly thrashed by Nicholas, despite 
the sallies of Mrs. Squeers, Wackford Junior, and the spiteful 
Miss Fanny. 

Nicholas then starts toward London on foot, but is un- 
expectedly aided by John Browdie, an honest Yorkshireman 
whose acquaintance had begun in a menacing fashion, but 

*From "Synopses of Dickens's Novels," by J. Walker Mc- 
Spadden. Thomas Y. Crowell and Company. 

119 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

who ever after remains a stanch adherent. Smike follows 
Nicholas from "Dotheboys," and begs to be allowed to live 
with him and serve him. Nicholas takes him to London, 
where they are sheltered by Newman Noggs, an eccentric 
clerk of Ralph Nickleby's, who has conceived a great liking 
for Nicholas and his mother and sister. Newman has fallen 
under the power of Ralph, and w^hile apparently a shattered 
and harmless man is but biding his day of reckoning. Nicho- 
las does not at once make his presence in London known, 
but hunts for a position. Meanwhile he acts as tutor to the 
Kenwigs family. He now learns of the state of affairs at 
home. His sister Kate has been placed by her uncle in a 
dressmaking and millinery establishment run by Madame 
Mantalini. Kate and her mother are housed in a tumble- 
down building belonging to Ralph and a long distance from 
her work. Here the two women manage to exist fairly com- 
fortably, with the secret aid of Newman. But they are domi- 
neered over by Ralph, who places Kate in an embarrassing 
position on account of some "gentleman" acquaintances — Lord 
Frederick Verisopht and Sir Mulberry Hawk — whom he in- 
troduces to her, and who pursue her with bold attentions. 

Nicholas does not learn of this last situation, but re- 
appears on the scene to justify himself about the Squecrs 
episode. A quarrel ensues between him and Ralph, which 
ends in the latter threatening to discontinue his "aid'* to 
Kate and her mother, unless Nicholas leaves them. The lat- 
ter has no prospects, so bids them an abrupt farewell and 
goes away from London with Smike. 

The two make their way to Portsmouth, where Vincent 
Crummies, a provincial actor manager, takes a fancy to them 
and attaches them to his company. Nicholas writes plays and 
wins some local success on the boards. Even the cadaverous 
Smike finds congenial roles and m.eets with favor. But their 
theatrical career is cut short by a letter from Newman Noggs 
urging Nicholas to return to London at once. Arrived there, 
Nicholas discovers the infamous conduct of his uncle toward 
Kate. The latter has lost her Mantalini situation, but ob- 
tained another with the Wititterlys, a bourgeois family aspir- 

120 



DICKENS AMONG EDUCATORS 

ing to society. Hawk and Verisopht continue vainly to pur- 
sue her and worm themselves into the good graces of the un- 
sophisticated Mrs. Nickleby. Nicholas chances to overhear 
a conversation between the two men in a coffee-house, and 
retaliates by v/hipping Hawk within an inch of his life. 

In the second part of the book, Nicholas removes his 
mother and sister from Ralph's house, takes Kate from the 
Wititterlys, and v/rites his uncle a brief bitter note declining 
any further connection with him. The trio and Smike take 
a temporary residence with Miss La Creevy, a portrait-painter 
who had previously done them kindness. 

Nicholas begins another search for a situation and is for- 
tunate enough to meet Charles Cheeryble, and through him, 
Edwin Cheeryble, the two members of the firm of Cheeryble 
Brothers. These two old gentlemen are self-made men, and 
now that they have amassed wealth, are noted for their gener- 
osity and sympathy. They quickly become interested in Nich- 
olas's story and engage him to assist their bookkeeper, Tim 
Linkinwater, a methodical old fellov/ of about the same age 
and kindly heart as themselves. Nor does their good-will stop 
here. They let at low rental a cozy cottage to Nicholas and 
his family, who move in with much delight. 

Poor Smike meets with a mishap soon after this, which 
disturbs his peace of mind. Squeers captures him in the 
street, and is on the point of conveying him back to York- 
shire, whether or no, — for the weak-minded fellow is incapa- 
ble of resistance, — when he is rescued by John Browdie who 
is in London on his wedding trip. Squeers is aided by 
Ralph Nickleby in his plots against Smike, for the usurer 
thinks thus to strike a severe blow at his hated nephew. 
They trump up a claim to having discovered Smike's father 
in one Snawley, and the three conspirators proceed to the 
Nickleby cottage to try to remove Smike forcibly, but are 
over-matched by Nicholas and John Browdie. 

Two new characters appear on the scene at this time: 
Frank Cheeryble, a nephew of Nicholas's benefactors, who 
is near Nicholas's age and speedily makes friends with all the 
Nickleby household, and Madeline Bray, a young woman whom 

121 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

Nicholas has long admired but never been able to meet. She 
is maintaining a sick father and has been aided by the Cheery- 
ble Brothers, and it is as their agent that Nicholas finally 
meets her. 

At this juncture Ralph Nickleby and a money-lending 
crony of his, Arthur Gride, contrive a plot against Madeline. 
Gride has become possessed of a deed to property coming 
to her, and he now makes an effort to marry her and seize the 
property for himself. The scheme is aided by Mr. Bray, 
and is nearly successful, when the latter's sudden death and 
Nicholas's appearance on the scene change the situation. Nich- 
olas has learned of the plot through Newman Noggs, and now 
takes Madeline to his own home where Kate and Mrs. Nickle- 
by nurse her through a critical illness. Meanwhile the deed 
in favor of Madeline, after being twice stolen, is recovered 
and placed in the hands of the Cheeryble Brothers, who find 
that she is heiress to several thousand pounds. 

Meanwhile Smike, whose strength both of mind and body 
had never recovered from the sufferings of his boyhood, 
gradually wastes away. He seems to have a hidden grief 
which further bears him down. Nicholas takes him to the 
country where he has spent his own boyhood, and there Smike 
succumbs and is buried. At the last he confesses to his pro- 
tector that he has been a prey to an overmastering, hopeless 
love for Kate. 

Ralph Nickleby now begins to pay the penalty of his past 
wickedness. Various plots and unlawful proceedings are 
brought home to his door. His tool Squeers is imprisoned, 
and Snawley and Gride are trapped. Still he bears a bold 
front until an extraordinary secret is brought to light. It is 
that Smike is his own son, the product of a secret marriage, 
and believed by his father to have died in early boyhood. 
The knowledge that he has aided to persecute his son, and 
that his son has been befriended by Nicholas, comes at this 
juncture with crushing force. Ralph hangs himself. 

Nicholas, though legal heir to his uncle's property, will 
not touch the ill-gotten money; nor will he declare his pas- 
sion for Madeline, now that she has become well-to-do. Kate 

122 



DICKENS AMONG EDUCATORS 

likewise refuses Frank Cheeryble, from the same ground of 
disparity in station. But the Cheeryble Brothers take a hand 
in matters, and the four young people are mated as they 
should be. Frank and Nicholas are taken into the firm, to- 
gether with Tim Linkinwater, who finds his affinity, late in 
life, in the person of Miss La Creevy. 

Squeers is sentenced to foreign imprisonment for a term 
of years. The news reaches "Dotheboys Hall" and forms the 
signal among the boys for a wild outbreak against Mrs 
Squeers, and the disruption of the school — much to John 
Browdie's secret delight. Of the other characters, Newman 
Noggs regains his former self-respect, after the shadow of 
Ralph Nickleby is removed from him. Lord Frederick Veri- 
sopht, who shows signs of a better nature, is killed in a duel 
by Sir Mulberry Hawk, who, but for having been forced to 
go to the Continent for this action, might have proved a dan- 
gerous enemy to Nicholas. Crummies goes to America, tak- 
ing with him Ninetta, the wonderful Infant Phenomenon, 
and the other members of his versatile family. The Kenwigs 
nearly lose the bequests of their guardian angel Lillyvick, a 
tax collector, who plunges into wedlock with Miss Petowker, 
an actress, but he is happily restored to their family circle. 



123 



VII 

"OLD CURIOSITY SHOP" AND "BARNABY 
RUDGE" 

Having in mind the Spectator and the Tatler, 
though purposing a more popular method, Dickens 
started early in 1840 the periodical which he called 
Master Humphrey's Clock, "'The Old Curiosity 
Shop'' was its first serial, and ^'Barnaby Rudge," 
which had been begun several years before, was the 
second. Of the former novel Thomas Hood wrote 
the review given in part below which Dickens declared 
that he had read with *'an unusual glow of pleasure 
and encouragement," and whose authorship he did not 
know until many years later. 

THOMAS HOOD'S REVIEW 

The first volume of Master Humphrey's Clock is 
now complete; and in the absence of any profes- 
sional criticism on the work by that Prince of Clock- 
makers, Sam Slick, we will venture to give our own 
opinion of the performance. 

The main fault of the work is in its construction. 
The parts are not well put together; and some of 
the figures, however ornamental, tend seriously to 
complicate and embarrass the movements of the ma- 
chine. * * ^ 

The revival of some of the Pickwickians supplies its 
own excuse. It afifords us an agreeable glimpse of 

124 



OLD CURIOSITY SHOP, BARNABY RUDGE 

our old favorites; and moreover the re-introduction of 
Old Weller — the same, but with a difference — in a 
new title, that had long *'laid dormouse in the fam- 
ily," is strictly legitimate. * * * 

*'Arn't that ere Boz a tip-top feller! 
Lots writes well, but he writes Weller." 

To turn from the old loves to the new, we do not 
know where we have met in fiction with a more strik- 
ing and picturesque combination of images than is 
presented by the simple childish figure of Little Nelly 
amidst a chaos of such obsolete, grotesque, old-world 
commodities as form the stock-in-trade of the *'01d 
Curiosity Shop." Look at the Artist's picture of the 
Child asleep in her little bed, surrounded, or rather 
mobbed, by ancient armor and arms, antique furni- 
ture, and relics sacred and profane, hideous or gro- 
tesque; it is like an allegory of the peace and inno- 
cence of childhood in the midst of violence, supersti- 
tion, and all the hateful or hurtful passions of the 
world. How sweet and fresh the youthful figure! 
How much sweeter and fresher for the rusty, musty, 
fusty atmosphere of such accessories and their asso- 
ciations! How soothing the moral, that gentleness, 
purity and truth sometimes dormant but never dead 
have survived, and will outlive fraud and force though 
backed by gold and encased in steel. 

As a companion picture we would select the Mend- 
ing of the Puppets in the Churchyard with the mock- 
ing of Punch perched on a gravestone, a touch quite 
Hogarthian in its satirical significance. 

As for Little Nelly herself, we should say that she 
thinks, speaks, and acts, in style beyond her years, if 

125 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

we did not know how poverty and misfortune are apt 
to make advances of worldly knowledge to the young 
at a most ruinous discount — a painful sacrifice of the 
very capital of childhood. Like some of the patent 
sharpeners that give a hasty edge to the knife, at the 
expense of a rapid waste of metal, so does care act 
on the juvenile spirit; and the observer may daily see 
but too many of such blades, precociously worn thin, 
and so unnaturall}^ keen, that like our oversharpened 
knives, they could almost cut with their backs. 

In strong contrast to Nelly we have the Old Man, 
her grandfather, — so old, that he seems never to have 
been young. His vice is one of those which outlive 
most others. A gambler at heart, but persuading him- 
self that, whilst gambling for money, he is only play- 
ing for love; that he speculates in dice and cards 
merely for the sake of his grandchild, — nay, that 
he robs her for her enrichment, — ^he aflfords a striking 
illustration of the assertion in *'Hudibras'' about the 
pleasure of being cheated, a pleasure so congenial 
to human nature that in the absence of any other 
swindler, we cheat ourselves. No one ever played, as 
a practice, except for the sake of play; and the old 
man's gambling has just as much to do with his love 
of Nelly, as gambling on the turf with the love of 
horses, or on the Stock Exchange with the love of 
country. 

Of a lighter sort are the vices of Mr. Richard 
Swiveller; the representative of a very numerous 
class, plenty as weeds, and though not so noxious as 
some orders, quite as useless and worthless as any of 
the tribes. There are thousands of Swivellers grow- 

126 



OLD CURIOSITY SHOP, BARNABY RUDGE 

ing, or grown up, about town; neglected, ill-condi- 
tioned profligates, who owe their misconduct not to 
a bad bringing up, but to having no bringing up at 
all. Human hulks cast loose on the world with no 
more pilotage than belongs to mere brute intelli- 
gence, like the abandoned hulls that are found adrift 
at sea with only a monkey on board. Such an estray 
is Dick Swiveller, a fellow of easy virtue and easy 
vice — lax, lounging and low in morals and habits, and 
living on from day to day a series of shifts and shab- 
binesses. * * * 

Still there is more of folly than of absolute vice 
about Richard Swiveller. For instance, he might have 
thought of a mistress, and he dreams of a wife; and 
he might have been a ruffianly Springheeled Jack, in- 
stead of a ''Perpetual Grand of the Glorious Apollers.'' 
He is rather weak than wicked; and, indeed, seems to 
have an impression of his own, to which he gives ut- 
terance in a maudlin fit, that his errors and mishaps 
are attributable to the want of early guidance. 

2|C ^ 2jC ^ 

The deluding Dwarf, just referred to — a Mr. Daniel 
Quilp, Ship-breaker and Heart-breaker, is one of the 
m.ost highly-wrought characters of the work. Stunted 
in body and limbs, but with a head fit for a giant, and 
rough coarse hands, furnished with long, crooked, 
and yellow nails, he is described as a sort of human 
Caliban, who plots mischief and misery with the rest- 
less malignity of a fiend, and fights, bites, and pinches 
with the wanton malice of a monkey. For his size 
he is as disproportionately savage and vicious as the 
Norway Rat in the Regents Park, that Winifred 

127 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

Jenkins calls a perfect "devil in garnet/' one of those 
same devils perhaps, who, according to Milton, com- 
pressed themselves into pigmies to make room in 
Pandemonium, and who has remained a Dwarf ever 
since. We are not partial to this association of moral 
with physical deformity, which the commonalty is but 
too apt to regard rather as a necessary connection 
than a coincidence. Thus, according to the popular 
notion, the young Princes smothered in the Tower, 
were not so much the victims of ambition as of a 
Crooked Back,~a prejudice palpably embodied in the 
prodigious hump of that most popular of our histrionic 
delinquents, Punch. To a certain extent, perhaps, the 
neglect of the infant frame, which produces rickets, 
being extended to the moral and intellectual nursing 
of the individual, might induce a corresponding de- 
feature, but beyond this, there is no reason why the 
most distorted figure should not be joined to the most 
amiable or noble of spirits — even as Daniel Quilp 
himself is married to a pretty little mild-spoken wo- 
man with blue eyes. Of this truth indeed, the author 
gives us an example in the gentle and benevolent Mas- 
ter Humphrey, whilst his Quilp is a horrible imperson- 
ation of the vulgar theory. * * * 

According to this reading of the part the char- 
acter of the wharfinger and dwarfinger, Daniel Quilp, 
is strikingly brought out: not to forget some clever, 
though rather melodramatic by-play, such as where 
he "eats hard eggs, shells and all; devours gigantic 
prawns, with heads and tails on; chews tobacco and 
water-cresses most voraciously at the same time ; drinks 
boiling tea without winking; and bites his fork and 

T28 



OLD CURIOSITY SHOP, BARNABY RUDGE 

spoon till they bend again." In fact, he lays himself 
out for, and is, a "Little Enormity." Whether such 
beings exist in real life, may appear, at first sight, some- 
what questionable; but in fairness, before deciding in 
the negative one ought to go and view the wilderness 
assigned as his haunt, and then to ask whether there 
may not be for such scenery fit actors and appropriate 
dramas? * * * 

After senna comes the sugar; and should the malice 
of the Diabolical Dwarf taste too bitter, let the reader 
turn to the episode of the Schoolmaster and his 
Scholar, who wrote so good a hand with such a ''very 
little one/' The story is simple, touching and unaf- 
fectedly told, one of those stories which can only come 
from a well-toned head and heart working in har- 
mony with each other; one of those that, whilst they 
recommend the book, endear the author — and no 
writer's personal character seems more identified with 
his writings than that of Boz. We invariably rise from 
the perusal of his volume in better humor with the 
world for he gives a cheerful view of human nature, 
and paints good people with a relish which proves that 
he has himself a belief in, and sympathy with, their 
goodness. 

Moreover he shows them to us (the Garlands for 
instance) shining in clusters, as if he would fain have 
a milky way of them ; whereas he put forward the bad 
as rarities or exceptions, and Quilp as unique. Above 
all, in distributing the virtues, he bestows a full pro- 
portion of tliem amongst a class of our fellow-crea- 
tures who are favored in Life's Grand State Lotteries 
with nothing but the declared blanks, and even in its 

129 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

Little Goes, with nothing but a moderate share of the 
undrawn tickets. 

The poor are his especial clients. He delights to 
show Worth in low places — living up a court, for ex- 
ample, with Kit and the industrious washerwoman, his 
mother. To exhibit Honesty holding a gentleman's 
horse, or Poverty bestowing alms. Of this compen- 
sating principle there is a striking instance in the 
Wax-work Woman, Mrs. Jarley, a personage who in 
many or most hands would have been a mere mass of 
tawdry finery and unmitigated vulgarity. Vulgar and 
fine she undoubtedly is; but there is a generous and 
kindly nature beneath, and she is truly a Christian in 
her charity, and a lady in her hospitality, although the 
last has no better sphere than a house upon wheels. 
An unfailing appetite is one of her attributes ; and her 
heart is as good as her stomach, as you feel from her 
first introduction. It is easy for the empty to feel for 
the hungry, for the fasting to sympathize with the 
famishing; but it is on the very back of a full meal — 
after bread and butter, knuckle of ham, and tea and 
brandy — that Mrs. Jarley recognizes the aspect and 
the claims of Want, and invites the wayfaring Old 
Man and Nelly to a welcome repast. The people of 
this world may be divided into two great classes, the 
Monopolizers and the Sympathizers, and Mrs. Jarley 
is one of the last mentioned. * * * 

The rest of the Clock-work Figures, the Wachleses 
excepted (poison the Wachleses as Quilp would say), 
are all good in their several ways. The selfish, discon- 
tented Tom Codlin, the contented Short alias Trotters, 
and Mr. Vuffin with his theory about shaky giants, 

130 



OLD CURIOSITY SHOP, BARNABY RUDGE 

wrinkled dwarfs, and wooden legs. The Law, we 
have Httle doubt, can furnish a power of attorneys akin 
to Sampson Brass, of Bevis Marks. 

His sister, a sort of Office Copy of himself — a pet- 
tifogger in petticoats, is more of a phenomenon — a real 
Law Cat ; and Richard Swiveller ought hardly to have 
found courage to borrow her cap off her head to wipe 
the window. * * * 

And now a few words of Boz himself. We are 
rejoiced to learn from so good an authority as his 
own preface, that in spite of certain crazy rumors to 
the contrary, he has never been "raving mad,'' and 
we sincerely and seriously trust that he never will be 
''off his head/' except when, like Quilp's urchin, he 
chooses to be on his feet. 

We have given our reasons for liking his last work : 
it is life-like and bustling, and therefore good for one's 
amusement; it comes from a sound head and heart, 
and it is therefore fitted for one's amusement; and 
accordingly, as Master Humphrey's Clock has already 
its thousands upon thousands of readers, we beg cor- 
dially to recommend it to the Million. 

SYNOPSIS OF "OLD CURIOSITY SHOP"* 

"The Old Curiosity Shop" itself has actually very little 
concern with this story. It is the first stage-setting, but after 
the thirteenth chapter it becomes entirely deserted, and a rusty 
padlock is fastened on the door. Nor is it again opened. The 
story might be appropriately styled "The Wanderers," or even 
"Little Nell," for the action revolves around the small heroine 

*From "Synopses of Dickens's Novels," by J. Walker Mc- 
Spadden. Thomas Y. Crowell and Company. 

131 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

and her weary quest for a safe retreat for her grandfather 
and herself. Incidentally the book is a sermon on gambling. 
Primarily it is a study in contrasts. **The lonely figure of 
the child" is surrounded by ''grotesque and wild but not im- 
possible companions," whose shadowy figures flit by with all 
the rapidity of a kaleidoscope. "Master Humphrey" is the 
supposed narrator of the opening chapters. 

,"Little Nell" Trent, a quiet, lovable girl, lives with her 
aged grandfather in an old curiosity shop in London, at the 
beginning of the story, and, though she is a diminutive child 
of scarcely fourteen years, she proves a capable housekeeper 
The grandfather, however, in a passion to secure a fortune 
for her, becomes addicted to gambling and thus ends in bank- 
ruptcy. He has borrowed money and fallen under the power 
of a malignant dwarf, Daniel Quilp, who sells him out with- 
out compunction. The old man is seized with a raging fever, 
which leaves him weakened in m.ind and body. He grows 
so fearful of the dwarf that Little Nell packs their scanty per- 
sonal belongings and they flee secretly. Henceforth the 
heroic spirit of this devoted child bears the burdens of both. 

Their flight brings hardships and strange adventures. They 
fall in with two "Punch" showmen, who are not unkind and 
allow them to accompany the show. But the men get the 
idea that a reward may be forthcoming if they keep the fugi- 
tives, and Nell and her grandfather take alarm and renew 
their solitary way. 

Their next friend is a quiet schoolmaster, who is heart- 
broken at the loss by death of his favorite pupil. Little Nell 
is installed in the lad's place in the master's affections, but 
she and her grandfather do not tarry here. They wander 
on and are taken up by the caravan of a Mrs. Jarley who 
manages a wax-work exhibition. Mrs. Jarley is pleased with 
Nell's pretty face and engages her to exhibit the figures. The 
child succeeds well in her new position and maintains herself 
and her grandfather in comparative comfort, until he chances 
to fall into the clutches of card sharpers. His old gambling 
fever is again aroused. He loses every penny the child can 
earn, and is even tempted to dishonesty. Nell learns the peril 

132 



OLD CURIOSITY SHOP, BARNABY RUDGE 

and is forced to flee with him again to keep him from danger. 

After a hard journey and sufferings which sow the seeds 
of disease in the child's tender body, they are rescued by the 
poor schoolmaster who had previously befriended them, and 
who watches over them henceforth. He procures them a 
home in a town to which he is removing — a tumble-down 
mansion across from a church whose keys are given into 
Neirs custody. During the few remaining months of her 
pathetic life she is often to be found in the church or its quiet 
churchyard — more like a spirit than a person of earth. 

Meantime in London more than one person had sought 
for the fugitives. Quilp, through motives of self-interest, 
offers rewards for their recovery. And a long-missing brother 
of Neirs grandfather devotes his life to finding them. He 
takes up his abode with Sampson Brass, "shyster" lawyer 
who is in league with Quilp, and watches this worthy pair. 
He makes the acquaintance of honest, awkward, good-natured 
Kit Nubbles who was one of Nell's protectors in the old 
curiosity shop days, and the only ray of merriment that came 
into her life. Through the "Punch" showmen he and Kit 
obtain a clew to the runaways, but too late to follow it suc- 
cessfully. 

Kit, who is now a man-of-all-work for Mr. and Airs. 
Garland, a quiet, well-to-do couple, incurs the hatred of the 
terrible dwarf, who commands his creature Brass to plot the 
lad's ruin. This is all but accomplished by a trumped-up 
charge of theft, when a disclosure of affairs turns the tables. 
Kit is liberated to find himself a popular hero; Brass is sent 
to the chain-gang; and Quilp drowns in attempting to escape 
arrest. 

Search is maintained for Nell and her grandfather, who 
are at last heard of through the Garlands. The searchers 
drive post-haste to the town where the wanderers have taken 
refuge, only to find that the great-hearted child has died a 
few hours before, and the old man is demented through grief. 
He does not recognize his brother, nor will he believe that 
Little Nell is gone from him. He takes up his daily station 
at her grave, and is found lying dead upon it one day. 

133 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

The other characters are briefly disposed of by the 
author. Most of the more prominent ones have been m.en- 
tioned already. But notice should be taken of Miss Sally 
Brass, the remarkable mannish sister of the attorney, with 
heart of stone ; Richard Swiveller, soldier of fortune, and the 
"Marchioness" who saved his life and thereby procured for 
herself a husband; Kit's sweetheart Barbara, and their re- 
spective mothers; poor frightened Mrs. Quilp, whose hus- 
band's way of eating eggs, shell and all, and drinking scald- 
ing tea did not tend to reassure her; and Frederick Trent, 
profligate brother of Little Nell. 



DICKENS IN CAMP. 
By Bret Harte 

Above the pines the moon was slowly drifting, 

The river sang below ; 
The dim Sierras, far beyond, uplifting 

Their minarets of snow. 



The roaring camp-fire, with rude humor, painted 

The ruddy tints of health 
On haggard face and form that drooped and fainted 

In the fierce race for wealth ; 



134 



OLD CURIOSITY SHOP, BARNABY RUDGE 

Till one arose, and from his pack's scant treasure 

A hoarded volume drew, 
And cards were dropped from hands of listless leisure. 

To hear the tale anew ; 



And then, while round them shadows gathered faster, 

And as the firelight fell. 
He read aloud the book wherein the Master 

Had writ of "Little Nell/' 



Perhaps 'twas boyish fancy ,^ — for the reader 

Was youngest of them all, — 
But, as he read, from clustering pine and cedar 

A silence seemed to fall; 



The fir-trees gathering closer in the shadows, 

Listened in every spray, 
While the whole camp, with "Nell," on English 
meadows 

Wandered and lost their w^ay. 



And so in mountain solitudes — overtaken 

As by some spell divine — 
Their cares dropped from them like the needles shaken 

From out the gusty pine. 

135 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

Lost is that camp, and wasted all its fire ; 

And he who wrought that spell? — 
Ah, towering pine and stately Kentish spire, 

Ye have one tale to tell! 



Lost is that camp ! but let its fragrant story 
Blend with the breath that thrills 

With hop-vines' incense all the pensive glory 
That fills the Kentish hills. 



And on that grave where English oak and holly 

And laurel wreaths intwine, 
Deem it not all a too presumptuous folly, — 

This spray of Western pine. 



"BARNABY RUDGE"* 

In 1838 Dickens had the story much in his mind, 
but the writing of it was not actually commenced until 
the autumn of the following year. From that time un- 
til its conclusion he frequently mformed Mr. Forster 
of the progress he made with it, as indicated by the fol- 
lowing quotations from his letters: "Thank God, all 
goes famously. I have worked at 'Barnaby' all day." 
— *' 'Barnaby' moves, not at race-horse speed." — ''All 
well. 'Barnaby' has reached his tenth page." A con- 

*From "The Novels of Charles Dickens," by F. G. Kitton : 
London, Elliott Stock. 

136 



OLD CURIOSITY SHOP, BARNABY RUDGE 

siderable interval elapsed before he again tackled the 
story, and in January, 1841, he says: *1 didn't stir 
out yesterday, but sat and thought all day ; not writing 
a line; not so much as the cross of a f or dot of an t. 
I imaged forth a good deal of 'Barnaby' by keeping 
my mind steadily on him; and am happy to say I have 
gone to work this morning in good twig, strong hope, 
and cheerful spirits." One February 25th, he wrote: 
'*'I have (it's four o'clock) done a very fair morning's 
work, at which I have sat very close, and been blessed 
besides with a clear view of the end of the volume;" 
and two months later, ^'I am getting on very slowly. 
I want to stick to the story; and the fear of commit- 
ting myself because of the impossibility of trying back 
or altering a syllable, makes it much harder than it 
looks. . . ," On August 5th, he remarked: **! 
am warming up very much about 'Bamaby.' Oh! if 
I only had him from this time to the end, in monthly 
numbers;" — for he felt more than ever, during the 
closing scenes, the constraints of weekly publication. 
Writing six days later, he said: "I was always sure 
I could make a good thing of 'Barnaby,' and I think 
you will find that it comes out strong to the last 
word. . . . I am in great heart and spirits with 
the story." A serious illness then harassed him; but 
he bore up gallantly, and on October 22nd (while still 
in his sick-room), he wrote, "I hope I sha'n't leave off 
any more, now, until I have finished 'Barnaby.' " On 
November 2nd, the printers received the final chapters. 
In the Preface to "Barnaby Rudge" the author ex- 
plains that he was induced to write this romance by 
the fact that no account of the famous Gordon Riots 

137 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

of 1780 had been, to his knowledge, presented in any 
work of fiction, and that the subject comprised very 
extraordinary and remarkable incidents. He gathered 
his materials for this powerful description principally 
from the files of old newspapers in the British Mu- 
seum. Respecting this feature of the book, Edgar 
Allan Poe maintained that the introduction of the 
Riots was altogether an afterthought. ''It is evident," 
he said, ''that they have no necessary connection with 
the story. The whole events of the drama would 
have proceeded as well without as with them. They 
have even the appearance of being forcibly introduced. 
All the characters, at a certain point, are thrown for- 
ward for a period of five years . . . for no more 
plausible reason than to aflFord an opportunity of de- 
scribing the 'No Popery' Riots.'* * * * 

Lord George Gordon, the hero of the Riots, was 
of course the veritable Scottish lord, the second son of 
Cosmo, third Duke of Gordon ; proclaiming himself 
to be "a friend of the people," he instituted public 
meetings in support of the Protestant interest, which 
culminated in serious riots, the cry of "No Popery" 
being the only guarantee of security from violence 
at the hands of the mob. In describing Sir John Ches- 
ter, Dickens evidently had in his mind the worldly Lord 
Chesterfield — a prototype much more in harmony with 
Sir John than was Sir William Maule, one of the 
Justices of the Court of Common Pleas, who (says 
Dr. Shelton Mackenzie) was supposed to have stood 
for the portrait. 

That poor Bamaby's raven, the redoubtable Grip 
who plays so important a part in the tale, is drawn 

138 



bLD CURIOSITY SHOP, BARNABY RUDGE 

from life, we have the noveHst's assurance. He states 
in the Preface to the first Cheap Edition that this fa- 
mous bird is a compound of two great originals of 
whom he was at different times the proud possessor; 
and he gives an amusing account of their various 
idiosyncracies, many of which were conspicuous in 
Barnaby's feathered friend. Dickens's first raven (also 
named Grip) poisoned himself with white lead; the 
second, who died from unknown causes, kept ''his eye 
to the last upon the meat as it roasted, and suddenly 
turned over on his back with a sepulchral cry of 
'Cuckoo.' " Charles Dickens's fondness for these pets 
induced a punning friend to remark that he was 
''raven mad," which gave rise to an absurd rumor that 
he was insane and confined in a lunatic asylum. Grip 
at his death, was stuffed and placed in a glass case, and 
his subsequent appearance in the auction-room, at the 
sale of the novelist's treasures and effects, was hailed 
with rapturous cheers — a striking tribute to the genius 
of him who had immortalized the bird in the story. Grip 
was purchased, after keen competition, for one hun- 
dred and twenty guineas, amidst tumultuous applause, 
the purchasers being the London Stereoscopic Com- 
pany. Professor Ward has suggested that Dickens 
may have derived the first notion of Grip from the 
raven Ralpho — likewise the property of an idiot — who 
frightened Roderick Random and Strap out of their 
wits, and into the belief that he was the personage 
Grip so persistently declared himself to be [vide 
"Roderick Random," Chap. XIII.]. This is not im- 
probable, remembering how Dickens, as a boy, revelled 
in the works of Smollett and Fielding. 

139 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 
SYNOPSIS OF "BARNABY RUDGE"* 

"Barnaby Rudge" is the hero of the present novel only 
in the sense that the long-extended and intricate action re- 
volves around him. The book begins as a tale of mystery, 
and culminates in the Gordon ''No Popery" riots of 1780. 

The scene opens five years earlier, at the Maypole Inn, 
twelve miles from London. John Willet, its burly obtuse 
landlord, has three fireside cronies who aid him in bullying 
his son Joe, who, though grown, is still treated as a mere boy. 
One of these cronies tells a mysterious stranger the story of 
a murder that had been committed in the neighborhood twenty- 
two years earlier. Reuben Haredale, the owner of the War- 
ren, a then prosperous estate, had been found murdered in his 
bed-chamber, and a large sum of money stolen. "The stew- 
ard and the gardener," continues the narrator, "were both 
missing, and both suspected for a long time, but they were 
never found, though hunted far and wide. And far enough 
they might have looked for poor Mr. Rudge, the steward, 
whose body — scarcely to be recognized by his clothes and the 
watch and ring he wore — was found, months afterward, at 
the bottom of a piece of water in the grounds." Suspicion 
for the double crime rests upon the gardener, concludes the 
narrator, and the murderer has never been apprehended. 

This belief, while general, is not universal, for as Geof- 
frey Haredale, brother of the slain gentleman, has come into 
possession of the estate, there are not wanting suspicions of 
his own share in the crime. This taint of doubt, acting upon 
Haredale's natural morbidness, embitters his whole life. He 
lives almost in seclusion on the now semi-ruinous estate, show- 
ing marked kindness to but two people, — his niece, Emma 
Haredale, for whom he cares as tenderly as a father, and 
Mrs. Rudge, wife of the former steward, to whom Haredale 
gives an allowance. Barnaby Rudge, her son, born the day 
after the tragedy, has carried its marks upon him from his 
birth, being weak mentall}^ given to fantastic imaginings, and 
possessed by an innate horror of blood. Yet he is so gentle 
and kind-hearted withal as to be a general favorite in the 

♦From "Synopses of Dickens's Novels," by J. Walker Mc- 
Spadden. Thomas Y. Crowell and Company. 

140 



OLD CURIOSITY SHOP, BARNABY RUDGE 

countryside with both man and beast. His raven Grip, with 
its demoniac slyness and croaking remarks, "Fm a devil" and 
"Polly put the kettle on,'' is also a personage of note. 

The mysterious stranger, who is present at the Inn on the 
night the story of the murder is told, commits a highway 
robbery that same night, and is also discovered afterwards 
to have some power over Mrs. Rudge. This worthy woman, 
in fact, becomes so alarmed over his visit to her cottage, that 
she relinquishes her Haredale annuity and flees with Barnaby 
to a distant village, where they are lost to sight for five years. 

Geoffrey Haredale has a lifetime enemy in the person of 
John Chester (afterward knighted). Haredale had been his 
drudge and scapegoat at school, and in after life Chester has 
lost no opportunity to injure him. Chester, while outwardly 
an urbane and polished gentleman, is really a master of dis- 
simulation. His present ambition is that his son Edward may 
marry an heiress and thus provide much-needed money for 
his own expensive tastes. Edward, however, a young man of 
good impulses, has fallen in love with Em.ma Haredale, who 
returns his affection. The match is distasteful to Chester and 
Haredale alike, and they agree for once to v/ork together in 
preventing it. A bit of treachery easily managed by Chester 
causes an estrangement of the lovers. Chester and his son 
quarrel, and Edward leaves England. 

Chester is instrumental in wrecking another love affair 
at this time. Joe Willet of the Maypole, a friend of Edward's, 
has long cherished a devotion for pretty Dolly Varden, daugh- 
ter of Gabriel Varden's sturdy good-natured locksmith of Lon- 
don. Dolly likes Joe, but is too great a coquette to admit it. 
Gabriel also is friendly, but Mrs. Varden, a zealous, religious 
bigot, aided by Miss Miggs, the melancholy servant, is an ad- 
verse influence which the artful Chester turns to bad ac- 
count for Joe. The latter is so browbeaten at home that he 
finally runs away, joins the army, and is sent to America. Dolly 
becomes the companion of Emma Haredale. 

The narrative here moves forward five years, to T780. 
Lord George Gordon, the Protestant fanatic of history, is just 
beginning his "No Popery" campaign. By speeches and pamph- 

141 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

lets he succeeds in collecting a mob of forty thousand men, 
mostly the scum and off-scouring of London. His shrewd 
and unprincipled lieutenants soon work the agitation up to 
fever heat and plot mischief. He himself seems to be a crack- 
brained visionary who wishes to use his followers in a demon- 
stration against Parliament, This show of force is made, but 
as yet no actual violence is done the Catholics. 

Into this seething caldron poor Barnaby Rudge is pres- 
ently cast. Mrs. Rudge's secluded home has been discovered 
by her persecutor, and in desperation she has come to the 
city to lose herself therein — only to involve her son, unwit- 
tingly, in the turmoil. Open lawlessness breaks forth. Chapels 
are pulled down and private houses fired. The Warren is 
burned, since Haredale is a Catholic and has incurred the 
enmity of Chester and others. Emma Haredale and Dolly 
Varden are kidnapped. Haredale who has been in another 
part of London hurries to the Warren only to find it in ashes 
and the girls gone. But he discovers and seizes a man lurk- 
ing in the ruins who proves to be Rudge the steward, long be- 
lieved dead. Rudge had murdered both his master and the 
gardener, so disposing of the latter's body as to lead to the 
impression that it was his own. Since that time he had 
lurked in the neighborhood to the constant terror of Mrs. 
Rudge, who alone knew his secret, but was restrained from 
disclosing it, though herself innocent. 

Haredale secures Rudge's imprisonment in Newgate 
prison, but the rioters soon after break into this jail and lib- 
erate all the inmates. Gabriel Varden the locksmith narrowly 
escapes with his life at this episode, since he refuses to aid 
in picking the Newgate lock. The insurrection rages in mad 
fury for a few nights and then is quenched in blood by the 
regular troops. Many of the leading rioters are seized, among 
them poor Barnaby who, however, has done no personal 
harm. At the end of the uprising the place of concealment 
of the kidnapped young women, Emma Haredale and Dolly 
Varden, is discovered by Geoffrey Haredale and two friends 
who have done him and others good service, — Edward Ches- 
ter and Joe Willet. Edward had gone to the West Indies and 

142 



OLD CURIOSITY SHOP, BARNABY RUDGE 

engaged in a profitable business. Joe had lost an arm in the 
American Revolution. Now they have returned to England 
in time to render valuable private aid for which each re- 
ceives his dearest reward, — the hand of his sweetheart Ed- 
ward weds Emma Haredale, with her uncle's consent, and the 
two go to the West Indies. Joe is met more than halfway 
in his wooing of Dolly. The sturdy locksmith, whom the 
riots have developed into a hero, gives his daughter so gen- 
erous a dowry that Joe is enabled to rejuvenate the Maypole 
Inn, dismantled by the rioters, and reign there as host. His 
father, who has suffered with the Inn in the riot, is cared for 
until his death, a few years later. 

Barnaby Rudge is tried with other rioters and sentenced 
to death by hanging. He is pardoned on the scaffold through 
the persistent efforts of Varden and others. The elder Rudge 
is executed; and relieved of this dire encumbrance, Barnaby, 
his mother, and the raven Grip spend a peaceful life on the 
farm of the Maypole. Other rioters who suffer death are 
Dennis the former hangman, and Hugh an untamed demi- 
savage who had been hostler at the Maypole until the riots 
began, and who is afterward found to be the unacknowledged 
natural son of Sir John Chester. This knight becomes in- 
volved in a duel with his enemy Haredale and is killed by 
him. Haredale takes refuge in a convent and spends his few 
remaining years in severe penance. 

Of the other characters, Mrs. Varden overcomes her cant 
and narrow-mindedness, especially when removed from the 
influence of Miggs, whose petty meanness and jealousy were 
in direct proportion to her shedding of tears. Simon Tap- 
pertit, Varden's fooHsh apprentice whom Miggs loved but 
who aspired to outrival Joe Willet in Dolly's affections, is a 
leading figure in the riots, whence he escapes without other 
punishment than the loss of his beloved legs. 



143 



VIII 

IN STRANGE LANDS 

Dickens's first appearance as a "lion" was in 1841, 
when he was entertained at a public dinner in Edin- 
burgh. Lord Jeffrey of the famous Edinburgh Review 
was responsible for this Scotch visit. Early in Janu- 
ary of the next year the novelist and his wife started 
on a long projected trip to America. Throughout 
his life he spent many holidays on the Continent. The 
following chapter reviews the years from 1832-1847 
which included the first American journey (1842) 
with its records in "Martin Chuzzlewit'* and "Ameri- 
can Notes," the visit to Italy (1844) which produced 
the "Pictures from Italy" and "The Chimes," the pub- 
Hcation of the five Christmas books (1843-1848), the 
brief editorial experience on The Daily Nezvs, and 
the writing of "Dombey and Son." 

STRANGE LANDS.* 
[1842-1847.] 
A JOURNEY across the Atlantic in midwinter is no 
child's play even at the present day, when, bad though 
their passage may have been, few people would venture 
to confess doubts, as Dickens did, concerning the safety 
of such a voyage by steam in heavy weather. The 

♦From "Charles Dickens," by Adolphiis W. Ward, in the 
English Men of Letters Series. Harper & Brothers. 

144 



/ IN STRANGE LANDS 

travelers — for Dickens was accompanied by his wife — 
had an exceptionally rough crossing, the horrors of 
v/hich he has described in his "American Notes/' His 
powers of observation were alive in the midst of the 
lethargy of sea-sickness, and when he could not watch 
others he found enough amusement in watching him- 
self. At last, on January 28, 1842, they found them- 
selves in Boston harbor. Their stay in the United 
States lasted about four months, during which time 
they saw Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, 
Washington, Richmond, Cincinnati, St. Louis, Chi- 
cago, and Buffalo. Then they passed by Niagara into 
Canada, and after a pleasant visit to Montreal, diversi- 
fied by private theatricals with the officers there, were 
safe at home again in July. 

Dickens met with an enthusiastic welcome in every 
part of the States where he had not gone out of the 
way of it; in New York, in particular, he had been 
feted, with a fervor unique even in the history of 
American enthusiasm, under the resounding title of 
''the Guest of the Nation." Still, even this imposed 
no moral obligation upon him to take the advice ten- 
dered to him in America, and to avoid writing about 
that country — "we are so very suspicious." On the 
other hand, whatever might be his indignation at the 
obstinate unwillingness of the American public to be 
moved a hair's-breadth by his championship of the 
cause of international copyright,* this failure could 
not, in a mind so reasonable as his, have outweighed 

*After dining at a party including the son of an eminent 
man of letters, he notes in his "Remembrancer" that he found 
the great man's son "decidedly lumpish," and appends the re- 
flection, "Copyrights need be hereditary, for genius isn't." 

I4S 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

the remembrance of the kindness shown to him and to 
his fame. But the truth seems to be that he had, If 
not at first, at least very speedily, taken a dislike to 
American ways which proved too strong for him to 
the last. In strange lands, most of all in a country 
which, like the United States, is not in the least ashamed 
to be what it is, travelers are necessarily at the outset 
struck by details; and Dickens's habit of minute ob- 
servation was certain not to let him lose many of 
them. He was neither long enough in the country to 
study very closely, nor was it in his way to ponder 
very deeply, the problems involved in the existence 
of many of the institutions with which he found fault. 
Thus, he was indignant at the sight of slavery, and 
even ventured to ''tell a piece of his mind" on the sub- 
ject to a judge in the South; but when, twenty years 
later, the great struggle came, at the root of which this 
question lay, his sympathies were with the cause of dis- 
union and slavery in its conflict with the ''mad and 
villainous" North. In short, his knowledge of Amer- 
ica and its affairs was gained in such a way and under 
such circumstances as to entitle him, if he chose, to 
speak to the vast public which he commanded as an 
author of men and manners as observed by him; but 
he had no right to judge the destinies and denounce the 
character of a great people on evidence gathered in the 
course of a holiday tour. 

Nor, indeed did the "American Notes," published 
by him after his return home, furnish any serious cau!:-e 
of offence. In an introductory chapter, which was 
judiciously suppressed, he had taken credit for the 
book as not having "a grain of any political ingredient 

146 



IN STRANGE LANDS 

in its whole composition/' Indeed, the contents 
were rather disappointing from their meagerness. The 
author showed good taste in eschewing all reference 
to his personal reception, and good judgment in leav- 
ing the copyright question undiscussed. But though 
his descriptions were as vivid as usual — whether of 
the small steamboat, "of about half a pony power," 
on the Connecticut river, or of the dismal scenery on 
the Mississippi, "great father of rivers, who (praise 
be to Heaven) has no young children like him!'' — 
and though some of the figure-sketches were touched 
off with the happiest of hands, yet the public, even in 
1842, was desirous to learn something more about 
America than this. It is true that Dickens had, with 
his usual conscientiousness, examined and described 
various interesting public institutions in the States — 
prisons, asylums, and the like; but the book was not 
a very full one; it was hardly anything but a sketch- 
book, with more humor, but with infinitely less poetic 
spirit, than the "Sketch-book" of the illustrious Amer- 
ican author whose friendship had been one of the 
chief personal gains of Dickens's journey. 

* * * On the first day of the following 
year, 1843, appeared the first number of the story 
which was to furnish the real casus discriminis between 
Dickens and the enemies, as well no doubt as a very 
large proportion of the friends, whom he had left be- 
hind him across the water. The American scenes in 
"Martin Chuzzlewit" did not, it is true, begin till the 
fifth number of the story; nor is it probable from the 
accounts of the sale, which was much smaller than 
Dickens had expected, that these particular episodes 

147 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

at first produced any strong feeling in the English pub- 
lic. But the merits of the book gradually obtained for 
it a popularity at home which has been surpassed by 
that of but one or two other of Dickens's works ; and 
in proportion to this popularity was the effect exer- 
cised by its American chapters. What that effect has 
been, it would be hypocrisy to question. 

Dickens, it is very clear, had been unable to resist 
the temptation of at once drawing upon the vast addi- 
tion to his literary capital as a humorist. That the satire 
of many American scenes in "Martin Chuzzlewit" 
is, as satire, not less true than telling, it needs but a 
small acquaintance with American journalism and ora- 
tory even at the present day to perceive; and the heait- 
rending history of Eden, as a type of some of the set- 
tlements "vaunted in England as a mine of Golden 
Hope," at least had the warrant of something more 
than hearsay and a look in passing. Nor, as has already 
been observed, would it have been in accordance with 
human nature, or with the fitness of things, had Dick- 
ens allowed his welcome in America to become to him 
(as he termed it in the suppressed Preface to the 
"Notes") "an iron muzzle disguised beneath a flower 
or two." But the frankness, to say the least, of the 
mirror into which he now invited his late hosts to gaze 
was not likely to produce grateful compliments to its 
presenter, nor was the effect softened by the despatch 
with which this souvenir of the "guest of the nation" 
was pressed upon its attention. No doubt it would 
have been easy to reflect that only the evil, not the 
good, sides of social life in America were held up to 
derision and contempt, and that an honorable American 

148 



IN STRANGE LANDS 

journalist had no more reason to resent the portraiture 
of Mr. Jefferson Brick than a virtuous EngHsh pater- 
famiHas had to quarrel with that of Mr. Pecksniff. 
Unfortunately, offence is usually taken where offence 
is meant ; and there can be little doubt as to the animus 
with which Dickens had written. * * * ''No satirist," 
Martin Chuzzlewit is told by a candid and open-minded 
American, ''could, I believe, breathe this air." But satire 
in such passages as these borders too closely on angry 
invective; and neither the irresistible force nor the 
earnest pathos of the details which follow can clear 
away the suspicion that at the bottom lay a desire to 
depreciate. Nor was the general effect of the American 
episodes in ''Martin Chuzzlewit" materially modified 
by their conclusion, to which, with the best of inten- 
tions, the author could not bring himself to give a 
genuinely complimxentary turn. The Americans did not 
like all this, and could not be expected to like it. The 
tone of the whole satire was too savage, and its tenor 
was too hopelessly one-sided for it to pass unre- 
sented; while much in it was too near the truth to 
glance off harmless. It is well known that in time 
Dickens came himself to understand this. Before 
quitting America, in 1868, he declared his intention 
to pubHsh in every future edition of his "American 
Notes" and "Martin Chuzzlewit" his testimony to the 
magnanimous cordiality of his second reception in the 
States, and to the amazing changes for the better which 
he had seen everywhere around him during his second 
sojourn in the country. * * * 

For in none of his books is that power, which at 
times filled their author himself with astonishment, 

149 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

more strikingly and abundantly revealed than in ''The 
Life and Adventures of Martin Chuzzlewit/' Never 
was his inventive force more flexible and more at his 
command ; yet none of his books cost him more hard 
work. The very names of hero and novel were only 
the final fortunate choice out of a legion of notions; 
though "Pecksniff" as well as "Charity" and "Mercy" 
("not unholy names, I hope," said Mr. Pecksniff 
to Mrs. Todgers) were first inspirations. The MS. 
text too is full of the outward signs of care. But the 
author had his reward in the general impression of 
finish which is conveyed by this book as compared with 
its predecessors; so that "Martin Chuzzlewit" may be 
described as already one of the masterpieces of Dick- 
ens's maturity as a writer. * * * 

A more original work, however, than "Martin Chuz- 
zlewit" was never composed, or one which more freshly 
displays the most characteristic qualities of its author's 
genius. Though the actual construction of the story 
is anything but faultless — for what could be more 
slender than the thread by which the American inter- 
lude is attached to the main action, or more wildly 
improbable than the hazardous stratagem of old Martin 
upon which that action turns? — yet it is so contrived 
as to fulfil the author's avowed intention of exhibit- 
ing under various forms the evil and the folly of 
selfishness. The vice is capable of both serious and 
comic treatment, and commended itself in each aspect 
to Dickens as being essentially antagonistic to his 
moral and artistic ideals of human life. A true comedy 
of humors thus unfolded itself with the progress of 
his book, and one for which the type had not been 

150 



IN STRANGE LANDS 

fetched from afar: ''Your homes the scene; your- 
selves the actors here/' had been the motto which he 
had at first intended to put upon his title-page. * * * 

''Martin Chuzzlewit'' ran its course of twenty 
monthly numbers; but already a week or two before 
the appearance of the first of these, Dickens had be- 
stowed upon the public, young and old, the earliest of 
his delightful "Christmas Books." Among all his 
productions perhaps none connected him so closely, 
and as it were personally, with his readers. Nor could 
It well have been otherwise; since nowhere was he so 
directly intent upon promoting kindliness of feeling 
among men — more especially good-will, founded upon 
respect, towards the poor. Cheerfulness was, from his 
point of view, twin-sister to charity; and sulkiness, 
like selfishness, belonged, as an appropriate ort, to the 
dust-heap of "Tom Tiddler's Ground." What more 
fit than that he should mingle such sentiments as these 
with the holly and the mistletoe of the only English 
holiday in which remains a vestige of religious and 
poetic feeling? * * * ^^j^ h^ now sought to reach 
the heart of the subject; and the freshness of his 
fancy enabled him delightfully to vary his illustrations 
of a text of which it can do no man harm to be re- 
minded in as well as out of season. 

Dickens's Christmas books were published in the 
Christmas seasons of 1843-1846, and of 1848. If the 
palm is to be granted to any one among them above its 
fellows, few readers would hesitate, I think, to declare 
themselves in favor of "The Cricket on the Hearth," 
as tender and delicate a domestic idyl as any litera- 
ture can boast. But the informing spirit proper of 

151 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

these productions, the desire to stir up a feeling of 
benevolence, more especially towards the poor and 
lowly, nowhere shows itself more conspicuously than 
in the earliest, "A Christmas Carol in Prose," and 
nowhere more combatively than in the second in date, 
the '^Goblin Story" of "The Chimes." Of the former 
its author declared that he "wept and laughed and 
wept again" over it, "and excited himself in a most 
extraordinary manner in the composition; and think- 
ing thereof he walked about the black streets of Lon- 
don, fifteen and twenty miles miany a night, when all 
the sober folks had gone to bed." Simple in its ro- 
mantic design like one of Andersen's little tales, the 
"Christmas Carol" has never lost its hold upon a 
public in whom it has called forth Christmas thoughts 
which do not all center on "holly, mistletoe, red ber- 
ries, ivy, turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, meat, 
pigs, sausages, oysters, pies, puddings, fruit, and 
punch;" and the Cratchit household, with Tiny Tim, 
who did NOT die, are living realities even to those who 
have not seen Mr. Toole- — an actor after Dickens's 
own heart — as the father of the family, shivering in 
his half-yard of comforter. 

In "The Chimes," composed in self-absorbed solitude 
at Genoa, he imagined that "he had written a tre- 
mendous book, and knocked the 'Carol' out of the 
field." Though the little work failed to make "the 
great uproar" he had confidently anticipated, its pur- 
pose was certainly unmistakable. * * * 

More than one of these Christmas books, both the 
humor and the sentiment of which are so peculiarly 
English, was written on foreign soil. Dickens's gen- 

152 



IN STRANGE LANDS 

eral conceptions of life, not less than his literary indi- 
viduality, had been formed before he became a trav- 
eler and sojourner in foreign lands. In Italy, as 
elsewhere, a man will, in a sense, find only what he 
takes there. At all events the changed life brought 
with it for Dickens, though not at once, a refreshment 
and a brief repose which invigorated him for some 
oi the truest efforts of his genius. His resolution to 
spend some time on the Continent had not been taken 
rashly, although it was at least hastened by business 
disappointments. He seems at this time, as was vir- 
tually inevitable, to have seen a good deal of society in 
London, and more especially to have become a wel- 
come guest of Lady Blessington and Count d'Orsay at 
Gore House. Moreover, his services were beginning 
to be occasionally claimed as a public speaker; and 
altogether he must have found more of his time than 
he wished slipping through his hands. Lastly, he 
very naturally desired to see what was to be seen, 
and to enjoy what was to be enjoyed, by one gifted 
with a sleepless observation and animated by a genuine 
love of nature and art. The letters, public and pri- 
vate, which he wrote from Italy, are not among the 
most interesting productions of his pen; even his 
humor seems now and then ill at ease in them, and his 
descriptive power narrow in its range. His eyes were 
occasionally veiled, as are those of most travelers in 
quest of ''first impressions." Thus I cannot but think 
his picture of Naples inadequate, and that of its pop- 
ulation unjust. Again, although he may have told 
the truth in asserting that the Eternal City, at first 
sight, "looked like — I am half afraid to write the word 

153 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

— like London/' and although his general description 
of Rome has been pronounced correct by competent 
judgment, yet it is impossible to ignore in it the un- 
dertone of Bow Bells. On the other hand, not even 
in his newspaper letters can he be said to fall into 
affectation; his impressions are never given preten- 
tiously, and are accordingly seldom altogether worth- 
less ; while his criticisms of works of art, when offered, 
are candid and shrewd, besides being invariably his 
own. 

Thus, there was never anything truer in its way 
than the account which he gave to Maclise of his first 
impressions a few days after his arrival at Albaro, a 
suburb of Genoa, where he found himself settled with 
his family in July, 1844. * jk * Soon he 
was seeking winter-quarters in Genoa itself, and by 
October was established in the Palazzo Peschiere, sit- 
uate on a height within the walls of the city, and over- 
looking the whole of it, with the harbor and the sea 
beyond. "There is not in Italy, they say (and I 
believe them), a lovelier residence." Even here, how- 
ever, among fountains and frescoes, it was some tim.e 
before he could set steadily to work at his Christmas 
story. At last the bells of Genoa chimed a title for it 
into his restless ears ; and, though longing with a nos- 
talgy that was specially strong upon him at periods of 
mental excitement for his nightly walks in the London 
streets, he settled down to his task. I have already 
described the spirit in which he executed it. No sooner 
was the writing done than the other half of his double 
artist-nature was seized with another craving. The 
rage which possesses authors to read their writings 

154 



IN STRANGE LANDS 

aloud to sympathizing ears, if such can be found, is a 
well-worn theme of satire; but in Dickens the actor 
was almost as strong as the author, and he could not 
withstand the desire to interpret in person what he 
had written, and to watch its effect with his own eyes 
and ears. In the first days of November, therefore, 
he set off from Genoa, and made his way home by 
Bologna, Venice, Milan, and the Simplon Pass. Of 
this journey his "Pictures from Italy'' contains the 
record, including a chapter about Venice, pitched in 
an unusually poetic key. But not all the memories 
of all the Doges could have stayed the execution of his 
set purpose. On the 30th of November he reached 
London, and on the 2d of December he was reading 
the ''Chimes,'' from the proofs, to the group of friends 
immortalized in Maclise's inimitable sketch. * * * 
"^ ^ * Before Christmas he v/as back again 
in his ''Italian bowers." If the strain of his 
effort in writing the "Chimes" had been severe, the 
holiday which followed was long. In the later winter 
and early spring of 1845 he and the ladies of his fam- 
ily saw Rome and Naples, and in June their Italian Hfe 
came to an end, and they were in London before the 
close of the month. Projects of work remained in 
abeyance until the absorbing fancy of a private play 
had been realized with an earnestness such as only 
Dickens could carry into his amusements, and into this 
particular amusement above all others. The play was 
"Every Man in his Humor;" the theater, the little 
house in Dean Street, of whose chequered fortunes 
no theatrical history has succeeded in exhausting the 
memories; and the manager was, of course, "Bob- 

155 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

adil/' as Dickens now took to signing himself. His 
joking remark to Macready, that he ''thought of 
changing his present mode of Hfe, and was open to 
an engagement/' was after all not so very wide of the 
mark. * * * 

Christmas, 1845, h^d passed and 'The Cricket on 
the Hearth'' had graced the festival, when an alto- 
gether new chapter in Dickens's life seemed about to 
open for him.* * * The establishment of a new 
London morning paper, on the scale to which those 
already in existence had attained, was a serious mat- 
ter in itself; but it seems to have been undertaken in 
no spirit of diffidence by the projectors and first pro- 
prietors of the Daily News, ^k * * j ^^ unable 
to say how many days it was after the appearance of 
this first number that Dickens, or the proprietors of 
the journal, or, as seems most likely, both sides simul- 
taneously, began to consider the expediency of ending 
the connection between them. * * * jj^ j^^^j j^^^i^ 
virtually out of "the chair" almost as soon as he had 
taken it. His successor, but only for a few months, 
was his friend Forster. 

Never has captive released made a more eager or a 
better use of his recovered freedom. Before the sum- 
mer had fairly set in Dickens had let his house, and 
was traveling with his family up the Rhine towards 
Switzerland. This was, I think, Dickens's only passage 
through Germany, which in language and literature re- 
mained a terra incognita to him, while in various ways 
so well known to his friendly rivals. Lord Lytton and 
Thackeray. He was on the track of poor Thomas 
Hood's old journeyings, whose facetious recollections 

is6 



IN STRANGE LANDS 

of Rhineland he had some years before reviewed in 
a spirit of admiration rather for the author than for 
the book, funny as it is. His point of destination was 
Lausanne, where he had resolved to establish his 
household for the summer, and where by the middle 
of June they were most agreeably settled in a little 
villa or cottage which did not belie its name of Rose- 
mont, and from which they looked upon the lake and 
the mighty Alpine chain beyond. If Rome had re- 
minded Dickens of London, the green woods near 
Lausanne recalled to him his Kentish glades; but he 
had the fullest sense and the truest enjoyment of the 
grandeurs of Alpine scenery, and lost no opportunity 
of becoming acquainted with them. * * * 

He had, at the same time, been peculiarly fortunate 
in finding at Lausanne a circle of pleasant acquaint- 
ances, to whom he dedicated the Christmas book which 
he wrote among the roses and the foliage of his lake- 
side cottage. Of course "The Battle of Life" was read 
aloud by its author to so kindly an audience. The day of 
parting, however, soon came; on the i6th of November 
paterfamilias had his "several tons of luggage, other 
tons of servants, and other tons of children," in travel- 
ing order, and soon had safely stowed them away at 
Paris "in the most preposterous house in the world. 
The like of it cannot, and so far as my knowledge 
goes, does not, exist in any other part of the globe. 
The bedrooms are like opera-boxes ; the dining-rooms, 
staircases, and passages quite inexplicable. The dining- 
room" — which in another letter he describes as "mere 
midsummer madness" — "is a sort of cavern, painted 
(ceiling and all) to represent a grove, with unac- 

157 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

countable bits of looking-glass sticking in among the 
branches of the trees. There is a gleam of reason 
in the drawing-room, but it is approached through a 
series of small chambers, like the joints of a telescope, 
which are hung with inscrutable drapery." Here, with 
the exception of two brief visits to England, paid 
before his final departure, he spent three months, fa- 
miliarizing himself for the first time of his life with 
the second of his *'Two Cities." 

Dickens came to know the French language well 
enough to use it with ease, if not with elegance; and 
he lost no opportunity, it need hardly be said, of re- 
sorting to the best schools for the purpose. Macready, 
previously addressed from "Altorf ," had made him ac- 
(|uainted with Regnier, of the Theatre Francais, who in 
his turn had introduced him to the greenroom of the 
house of Moliere. Other theaters were diligently vis- 
ited by him and Forster, when the latter arrived on 
a visit; and celebrities were polite and hospitable to 
their distinguished English confrere. With these, 
however, Dickens was not cosmopolitan enough to con- 
sort except in passing; the love of literary society 
because it is literary society was at no time one of his 
predilections or foibles. The streets of Paris were 
to him more than its salons, more even than its thea- 
ters. They are so to a larger number of Englishmen 
than that which cares to confess it, but Dickens would 
have been the last to disown the impeachment. They 
were the proper sphere for his powers of humorous 
observation, as he afterwards showed in more than 
one descriptive paper as true to life as any of his Lon- 
don "Sketches." And, moreover, he needed the streets 

158 



IN STRANGE LANDS 

for the work which he had in hand. "Dombey and 
Son" had been begun at Rosemont, and the first of 
its twenty monthly numbers had been pubHshed in 
October, 1846. No reader of the book is likely to 
forget how, after writing the chapter which relates the 
death of little Paul, Dickens during the greater part 
of the night wandered restlessly with a heavy heart 
about the Paris streets. Sooner, however, than he had 
intended, his residence abroad had to come to a close ; 
and early in 1847 he and his family were again in Lon- 
don. 

*'Dombey and Son" has, perhaps, been more criti- 
cized than any other amongst the stories of its author ; 
and yet it certainly is not the one which has been least 
admired, or least loved. * * * Manifestly, this novel 
is one of its author's most ambitious endeavors. In it, 
more distinctly even than in ''Chuzzlev»^it," he has 
chosen for his theme one of the chief vices of human 
nature, and has striven to show what pride cannot 
achieve, what it cannot conquer, what it cannot with- 
stand. This central idea gives to the story, throughout 
a most varied succession of scenes, a unity of action to 
be found in few of Dickens's earlier works. On the 
other hand, "Dombey and Son" shares with these 
earlier productions, and with its successor, ''David 
Copperfield," the freshness of invention and sponta- 
neous flow of both humor and pathos which at times 
are wanting in the more powerfully conceived and 
more carefully constructed romances of Dickens's later 
years. If there be any force at all in the common re- 
mark that the most interesting part of the book ends 
together with the life of little Paul, the censure falls 

159 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

upon the whole design of the author. Little Paul, in 
something besides the ordinary meaning of the words, 
was born to die; and though, like the writer, most 
readers may have dreaded the hour which was to put 
an end to that frail life, yet in this case there could be 
no question — such as was possible in the story of Little 
Nell — of any other issue. Indeed, deep as is the pathos 
of the closing scene, its beauty is even surpassed by 
those which precede it. * * * 

What even the loss of his son could not effect in Mr. 
Dombey is to be accomplished in the progress of the 
story by a yet stronger agency than sorrow. His pride 
is to be humbled to the dust, where he is to be sought 
and raised up by the love of his despised and ill-used 
daughter. Upon the relations between this pair, ac- 
cordingly, it was necessary for the author to expend 
the greatest care, and upon the treatment of those re- 
lations the criticism to which the character of Mr. 
Dombey has been so largely subjected must substan- 
tially turn. The unfavorable judgments passed upon 
it have, in my opinion, not been altogether unjust. 
The problem obviously was to show how the father's 
cold indifference towards the daughter gradually be- 
comes jealousy, as he finds that upon her is concen- 
trated, first, the love of his innocent little son, and then 
that of his haughty second w^fe; and how hereupon 
this jealousy deepens into hate. But * * * ^^^ 
main motives at work in the unhappy man are either 
not very skilfully kept asunder, or not very intelligibly 
intermixed. Nor are the later stages of the relations 
between father and daughter altogether satisfactorily 
conceived. * * * The closing scene which leads 

i6o 



IN STRANGE LANDS 

to the flight of Florence is undeniably powerful; but it 
is the development of the relations between the pair 
in which the art of the author is in my judgment oc- 
casionally at fault. 

As to the general effect of the latter part of the story 
— or rather of its main plot — which again has been 
condemned as melodramatic and unnatural, a distinc- 
tion should be drawn between its incidents and its char- 
acters. Neither Edith Dombey nor Mr. Carker is a 
character of real life. The pride of the former comes 
very near to bad breeding and her lapses into senti- 
ment seem artificial lapses. "^ * * As for Mr. 
Carker, with his white teeth and glistening gums, 
who calls his unhappy brother ''Spaniel,'' and con- 
templates a life of sensual ease in Sicily, he has the 
semi-reality of the stage. Possibly the French stage 
had helped to suggest the scene de la piece betv/een 
the fugitives of Dijon — an effective situation, but one 
which many a novelist might have worked out not less 
skilfully than Dickens. His own master-hand, how- 
ever, re-asserts itself in the wondrously powerful nar- 
rative of Carker's flight and death. -^ * * 

No other of Dickens's books is more abundantly 
stocked than this with genuinely comic characters ; but 
nearly all of them, in accordance with the pathetic tone 
which is struck at the outset, and which never dies 
out till the story has run its course, are in a more sub- 
dued strain of humor. Lord Jeffrey was, I think, 
warranted in his astonishment that Dickens should de- 
vote so much pains to characters like Mrs. Chick and 
Miss Tox. Probably the habit remained with him from 
his earliest times of authorship when he had not always 

i6i 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

distinguished very accurately between the humorous 
and the bizarre. * * * Susan Nipper * "^ *is a host 
in herself, an absolutely original character among the 
thousands of soubrettes that are known to comedy and 
fiction, and one of the best tonic mixtures ever com- 
posed out of much humor and not a few grains of 
pathos. Her tartness has a cooling flavor of its own. 
:jc * >}: Q£ QQurse shc has a favorite figure of speech 
belonging to herself. '*' * * 

Dickens was to fall very largely into this habit of 
"labelling" his characters, as it has been called, by 
particular tricks or terms of speech; and there is a 
certain excess in this direction already in "Dombey 
and Son," where not only Miss Nipper and Captain 
Cuttle and Mr. Toots, but Major Bagstock too and 
Cousin Feenix, are thus furnished forth. But the in- 
vention is still so fresh and the play of humor so varied, 
that this mannerism cannot be said as yet seriously to 
disturb them. A romantic charm of a peculiar kind 
clings to honest Captain Cuttle and the quaint home 
over which he mounts guard during the absence of its 
owner. The nautical coloring and concomitant fun 
apart — for only Smollett could have drawn Jack Buns- 
by's fellow, though the character in his hands would 
have been differently accentuated— Dickens has never 
approached more nearly to the manner of Sir Walter 
Scott than in this singularly attractive part of his book. 
Elsewhere the story passes into that sphere of society 
in describing which Dickens was, as a novelist, rarely 
very successful. But though Edith is cold and unrea), 
there is, it cannot be denied, human nature in the pig- 
ments and figments of her hideous old mother; and, 

162 



IN STRANGE LANDS 

to outward appearance at all events, the counterparts 
of her apoplectic admirer, Major Bagstock, still pace 
those pavements and promenades which it suits them 
to frequent. Cousin Feenix is likewise very far from 
impossible, and is besides extremely delightful — and a 
good fellow too at bottom, so that the sting of the 
satire is here taken away. On the other hand, the 
meeting between the sacs et parchemins at Mr. Dom- 
bey's house is quite out of focus. 

The book has other heights and depths, and pleas- 
ant and unpleasant parts and passages. But enough 
has been said to recall the exuberant creative force, and 
the marvelous strength of pathos and humor which 
''Dombey and Son" proves that Dickens, now near 
the very height of his powers as a writer of fiction, 
possessed. In one of his public readings many years 
afterwards, when he was reciting the adventures of 
little Dombey, he narrates that a "very good fellow," 
whom he noticed in the stalls, could not refrain from 
wiping the tears out of his eyes as often as he thotight 
that Toots was coming on. And just as Toots had be- 
come a reality to this good fellow, so Toots and Toots's 
little friend, and divers other personages in this story, 
have become realities to half the world that reads the 
English tongue, and to many besides. What higher 
praise could be given to this wonderful book? Of 
all the works of its author nbne has more powerfully 
and more permanently taken hold of the imagination 
of its readers. Though he conjured up only pictures 
familiar to us from the aspect of our own streets and 
our own homes, he too wielded a wizard's wand. 



163 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

After the success of "Dombey" it might have seemed 
that nothing further was wanting to crown the pros- 
perity of Dickens's Hterary career. While the publica- 
tion of this story was in progress he had concluded ar- 
rangements for the issue of his collected writings, in 
a cheap edition, which began in the year 1847, ^^d 
which he dedicated "to the English people, in whose 
approval, if the books be true in spirit, they will live 
and out of whose memory, if they be false, they will 
very soon die." He who could thus proudly appeal to 
posterity was already, beyond all dispute, the people's 
chosen favorite among its men of letters. That posi- 
tion he was not to lose so long as he lived ; but even at 
this time the height had not been reached to which 
(in the almost unanimous judgment of those who love 
his writings) he was in his next work to attain. 



THE "CAROL" AND "THE CHIMES"* 

From Dickens's letter to Professor Cornelius C. Fenton, 
January 2, 1844: 

Now, if instantly on the receipt of this you will send 
a free and independent citizen down to the Cunard 
wharf at Boston, you will find that Captain Hewett, 
of the Britannia steamship (my ship), has a small 
parcel for Professor Felton of Cambridge ; and in that 
parcel you will find a Christmas Carol in prose; being 
a short story of Christmas by Charles Dickens. Over 
which Christmas Carol Charles Dickens wept and 

"^From "The Letters of Charles Dickens/' edited by his 
sister-in-law and his eldest daughter The Macniillan Co. 

164 



IN STRANGE LANDS 

laughed and wept again, and excited himself in a 
most extraordinary manner in the composition; and 
thinking whereof he walked about the black streets 
of London, fifteen and twenty miles many a night 
when all the sober folks had gone to bed. ... Its 
success is most prodigious. And by every post all 
i manner of strangers write all manner of letters to him 
about their homes and hearts, and how this same 
Carol is read aloud there, and kept on a little shelf 
by itself. Indeed, it is the greatest success, as I am 
told, that this ruffian and rascal has ever achieved. 

From a letter to Lady Blessington, November 20, 1844: 

I shut myself up for a month, close and tight, over 
my little Christmas book, *'The Chimes." All my af- 
fections and passions got twined and knotted up in it, 
and I became as haggard as a murderer, long before 
I wrote "The End." ^ 



SYNOPSIS OF "DOMBEY AND SON"* 

The humbling of pride and the awakening of parental 
love are the subjects dealt with in ''Dombey and Son." 

Paul Dombey, Senior, is about forty-eight years of age 
when the book opens; his son Paul is about as many minutes 
old. Dombey Senior is arrogant, haughty, and totally en- 
grossed in the affairs of his large mercantile house in Lon- 
don. The arrival of a son and heir is therefore particularly 
welcome to him — so much so, that he does not grieve deeply 
because of the loss of his wife at this time. 

The motherless boy grows slowly into puny childhood 

*From "Synopses of Dickens's Novels," by J. Walker Mc- 

Spadden. Thomas Y. Crowell and Company. 



\ <^ ^ \ 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

with no companion except his sister Florence, a few years 
his senior. The little girl has been totally neglected by her 
father; and, now that her mother is dead, lavishes all her 
pent-up love on her brother. She does indeed make timid 
overtures to her father, but he repulses her. His love, clumsy 
as it is in expression, is centered on his son who makes the 
joint firm of ''Dombey and Son" possible. 

In this environment grows the gentle-hearted little Paul, 
demure and thoughtful beyond his years, and a devoted com- 
rade of his sister. But he does not gain in strength, so is 
sent to Mrs. Pipchin's house at the seaside. When he is 
six years old his father's eagerness to have him grow up 
leads to his being placed in Doctor Blimber's select school, 
where his frail spirit is doubly oppressed by confinement over 
books and separation from his sister, whose great influence 
over Paul has not been agreeable to the father. The forcing 
process in vogue at Doctor Blimber's does not make the man 
of Paul that his father desires; instead the boy sinks under 
the strain, and in a few months breathes his last. 

The death of Paul results in the still wider estrange- 
ment of Florence and her father. Another incident has hap- 
pened in her life which, also, is to have effect upon her later 
years. Becoming lost one day in London, she is brought 
home by young Walter Gay, an employe of Dombey's house. 
Walter lives with his uncle, Solomon Gills, a ship's instru- 
ment maker, at the sign of the Wooden Midshipman, and is 
greatly admired by both his uncle and their best friend, Cap- 
tain Edward Cuttle, the one-handed seaman, retired. Hence- 
forth Walter is to have another devoted adherent in Florence. 
But he gains at the same time an insidious enemy in the per- 
son of James Carker, manager for Dombey, who prevails on 
the latter to send Walter on a long sea voyage. 

After many months devoid of tidings of Walter, his 
broken-hearted uncle goes quietly away to hunt for him, 
leaving Captain Cuttle in disconsolate charge of the Midship- 
man. 

Major Joseph Bagstock, otherwise known to himself as 
Joey B., Old Joe, etc., takes a lively interest in Dombey's af- 

i66 



IN STRANGE LANDS 

fairs at this time, and introduces him to Edith Granger, who 
is persuaded by her fortune-hunting mother to become the 
second Mrs. Dombey. Volume I closes with preparations for 
the wedding. 

It is not long after the wedding until unhappiness begins 
for this ill-assorted pair; for Mr. Dombey knows no will 
but his own and is not troubled with delicacy or sentiment; 
while Mrs. Dombey is no less haughty in her own way and 
quite as independent of spirit. She is, however, refined and 
sensitive, and quickly discovers the good qualities of the neg- 
lected Florence, whose affection and allegiance are easily v/on. 
But once more Dombey is displeased with what he terms his 
daughter's interference, and his heart becomes steeled against 
both daughter and wife. 

He adopts the course of sending Carker, his manager, to 
Mrs. Dombey armed with his domestic reproofs, knowins: 
that this course will be most galling to Edith's pride. At 
last she is goaded to revenge, and chooses to elope with 
Carker — whom she detests — in order to humiliate her hus- 
band. This she apparently does, though she does not live 
with Carker. The latter follows her to France, but is spurned, 
and returns to England to elude Dombey who is in pursuit. 
In an encounter with Dombey the rascally manager's life ends, 
by accident, under the wheels of a railway train. 

Upon the flight of Mrs. Dombey, Florence, nov/ a young 
woman of seventeen, is left once more alone. She goes to 
her father to comfort him in this blow to his pride, when 
he in a frenzy of passion strikes her to the floor, bidding her 
follow Edith, since they had always been in league. 

Florence flees from her father's house, which she can call 
home no longer. She can think of only one refuge, and that 
is the home of Walter's uncle, Solomon Gills. But Gills had 
previously disappeared in search of Walter; and Florence 
finds only Captain Cuttle who, however, receives her and 
cares for her as tenderly as a kinsman. 

Shortly afterward, Walter unexpectedly returns, to the 
great delight of Florence and the captain. The two young 
people confess a mutual passion, which has influenced each 

167 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

since childhood, and resolve to wed before Walter^s next voy- 
age. The happiness of the gronp is heightened by the arrival 
of the wanderer, Gills ; and a merry little party witnesses the 
wedding of the lovers, who shortly embark on a long voyage, 
leaving only one rueful face among their friends — that of 
Toots, a long-time wooer of Florence. 

One year later the trading world is shocked by news of 
the failure of Dombey and Son. Dombey had plunged reck- 
lessly into ventures after the flight of his wife and daughter, 
seeking to find relief in business activity and accepting advice 
from no quarter. His house becomes bankrupt, and he him- 
self is nearly insane through brooding over his troubles. In 
this extremity of misery and humiliation, the spurned daugh- 
ter Florence returns to him, and at last v/ins his love and 
trust. She persuades him to live with her and Walter, now 
settled in a comfortable little homie. There he ends his days 
in peace and affection, devoting himself to his two grandchil- 
dren, Paul and Florence, but showing his tenderest side to 
the little girl. 



i68 



IX 

AMERICAN ECHOES 

How well I recall* the bleak winter evening in 1842 
when I first saw the handsome, glowing face of the 
young man who was even then famous over half the 
globe! He came bounding into the Tremont House, 
fresh from the steamer that had brought him to our 
shores, and his cheery voice rang through the hall, as he 
gave a quick glance at the new scenes opening upon 
him in a strange laud on first arriving at a Transatlantic 
hotel. ''Here we are !'' he shouted, as the lights burst 
upon the merry party just entering the house, and sev- 
eral gentlemen came forward to greet him. Ah, how 
happy and buoyant he was then! Young, handsome, 
almost worshipped for his genius, belted round by such 
troops of friends as rarely ever man had, coming to a 
new country to make new conquests of fame and 
honor, — surely it was a sight long to be remembered 
and never wholly to be forgotten. The splendor of his 
endowments and the personal interest he had won to 
himself called forth all the enthusiasm of old and 
young America, and I am glad to have been among the 
first to witness his arrival. You ask me what was his ap- 
pearance as he ran, or rather flew, up the steps of the 
hotel, and sprang into the hall. He seemed all on fire 
with curiosity, and alive as I never saw mortal before. 

*From ^'Yesterdays with Authors/' by James T. Fields. 
Houghton, Mifflin Company. 

i6g 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

From top to toe every fibre of his body was unre- 
strained and alert. What vigor, what keenness, what 
freshness of spirit, possessed him! He laughed al! 
over, and did not care who heard him ! He seemed like 
the Emperor of Cheerfulness on a cruise of pleasure, 
determined to conquer a realm or two of fun every 
hour of his overflowing existence. That night im- 
pressed itself on my memory for all time, so far as I 
am concerned with things sublunary. It was Dickens, 
the true "Boz," in flesh and blood, who stood before 
us at last, and with my companions, three or four lads 
of my own age, I determined to sit up late that night. 
None of us then, of course, had the honor of an ac- 
quaintance with the delightful stranger, and I little 
thought that I should afterwards come to know him 
in the beaten way of friendship, and live with him 
day after day in years far distant; that I should ever 
be so near to him that he would reveal to me his joys 
and his sorrows, and thus that I should learn the story 
of his life from his own lips. 

About midnight on that eventful landing, "Boz" — 
everybody called him ''Boz'' in those days, — ^having 
finished his supper, came down into the office of the 
hotel, and, joining the young Earl of M , his fellow- 
voyager, sallied out for a first look at Boston streets. 
It was a stinging night, and the moon was at the full. 
Every object stood out sharp and glittering, and "Boz," 
muffled up in a shaggy fur coat, ran over the shining 
frozen snow, wisely keeping the middle of the street for 
the most part. We boys followed cautiously behind, 
but near enough not to lose any of the fun. Of course 
the two gentlemen soon lost their way on emerging 

170 



AMERICAN ECHOES 

into Washington from Tremont Street. Dickens kept 
up one continual shout of uproarious laughter as he 
went rapidly forward, reading the signs on the shops, 
and observing the '"architecture" of the new country 
into which he had dropped as if from the clouds. When 
the two arrived opposite the ''Old South Church'' 
Dickens screamed. To this day I could never tell why. 
Was it because of its fancied resemblance to St. Paul's 
or the Abbey? I declare firmly, the mystery of that 
shout is still a mystery to me ! 

The great event of "Boz's" first visit to Boston was 
the dinner of welcome tendered to him by the young 
men of the city. It is idle to attempt much talk about 
the banquet given on that Monday night in February, 
twenty-nine years ago. Papanti's Hall was the scene 
of that festivity. It was a glorious episode in all our 
lives, and whoever was not there has suffered a loss 
not easy to estimate. We younger members of that 
dinner-party sat in the seventh heaven of happiness, 
and were translated into other spheres. Accidentally, 
of course, I had a seat just in front of the honored 
guest; saw him take a pinch of snuff out of Washing- 
ton Allston's box, and heard him joke with old Presi- 
dent Quincy. Was there ever such a night before in 
our staid city? Did ever mortal preside with such 
felicitous success as did Mr. Quincy ? How he went on 
with his delicious compliments to our guest ! How he 
revelled in quotations from "Pickwick" and "Oliver 
Twist" and "The Curiosity Shop !" And how admira- 
bly he closed his speech of welcome, calling up the 
young author amid a perfect volley of applause! 
"Health, Happiness, and a Hearty Welcome to Charles 

171 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

Dickens.'' I can see and hear Mr. Quincy now, as he 
spoke the words. Were ever heard such cheers be- 
fore? And when Dickens stood up at last to answer 
for himself, so fresh and so handsome, with his beau- 
tiful eyes moist with feeling, and his whole frame 
aglow with excitement, how we did hurrah, we young 
fellows ! Trust me, it zvas a great night ; and we must 
have made a mighty noise at our end of the table, for 
I remember frequent messages came down to us from 
the *'Chair," begging that we would hold up a little 
and moderate if possible the rapture of our applause. 

A WELCOME TO "BOZ" ON HIS FIRST VISIT 
TO THE WEST 

Come as artist, come as guest, 
Welcome to the expectant West, 
Hero of the charmed pen, 
Loved of children, loved of men. 
We have felt thy spell for years ; 
Oft with laughter, oft with tears. 
Thou hast touched the tenderest part 
Of our inmost, hidden heart. 
We have fixed our eager gaze 
On thy pages nights and days, 
Wishing, as we turned them o'er. 
Like poor Oliver, for ''more," 
And the creatures of thy brain 
In our memory remain. 
Till through them we seem to be 
Old acquaintances of thee. 
Much we hold it thee to greet, 
Gladly sit we at thy feet; 

172 



AMERICAN ECHOES 

On thy features we would look, 
As upon a living book, 
And thy voice would grateful hear, 
Glad to feel that Boz were near. 
That his veritable soul 
Held us by direct control : 
Therefore, author loved the best. 
Welcome, welcome to the West. 

In immortal Weller's name, 
By the rare Micawber's fame, 
By the flogging wreaked on Squeers, 
By Job Trotter's fluent tears. 
By the beadle Bumble's fate 
At the hands of shrewish mate, 
By the famous Pickwick Club, 
By the dream of Gabriel Grubb, 
In the name of Snodgrass' muse, 
Tupman's amorous interviews. 
Winkle's ludicrous mishaps, 
And the fat boy's countless naps ; 
By Ben Allen and Bob Sawyer, 
By Miss Sally Brass, the lawyer, 
In the name of Newman Noggs, 
River Thames, and London fogs, 
Richard Swiveller's excess, 
Feasting with the Marchioness, 
By Tack Bunsby's oracles, 
By the chime of Christmas bells. 
By the cricket on the hearth, 
By the sound of childish mirth, 
By spread tables and good cheer, 

173 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

Wayside inns and pots of beer, 
Hostess plump and jolly host, 
Coaches for the turnpike post. 
Chambermaid in love with Boots, 
Toodles, Traddles, Tapley, Toots, 
Betsey Trotwood, Mister Dick, 
Susan Nipper, Mistress Chick, 
Snevellicci, Lilyvick, 
Mantalini's predilections 
To transfer his warm affections, 
By poor Barnaby and Grip, 
Flora, Dora, Di, and Gip, 
Perrybingle, Pinch and Pip, — 
Welcome, long-expected guest. 
Welcome to the grateful West. 

In the name of gentle Nell, 

Child of light, beloved well, — 

Weeping, did we not behold 

Roses on her bosom cold ? 

Better we for every tear 

Shed beside her snowy bier, — 

By the mournful group that played 

Round the grave where Smike was laid, 

By the life of Tiny Tim, 

And the lesson taught by him. 

Asking in his plaintive tone 

God to ''bless us every one," 

By the sounding waves that bore 

Little Paul to Heaven's shore, 

By thy yearning for the human 

Good in every man and woman, 

174 



AMERICAN ECHOES 

By each noble deed and word 
That thy story-books record, 
And each noble sentiment 
Dickens to the world hath lent, 
By the efifort thou hast made 
Truth and true reform to aid. 
By thy hope of man's relief 
Finally from want and grief. 
By thy never-failing trust 
That the God of love is just, — 
We would meet and welcome thee, 
Preacher of humanity : 
Welcome fills the throbbing breast 
Of the sympathetic West. 

—W. H. V enable. 

DICKENS'S OPINION OF AMERICA* 

Etract from a letter to Mr. W. C. Macready, March 22, 
1842: 

My dear Macready, I desire to be so honest and 
just to those who have so enthusiastically and earn- 
estly welcomed me, that I burned the last letter I wrote 
to you — even to you whom I would speak as to my- 
self — rather than let it come with anything that might 
seem like an ill-considered word of disappointment. I 
preferred that you should think me neglectful (if you 
could imagine anything so wild) rather than I should 
do wrong in this respect. Still it is of no use. I am 
disappointed. This is not the republic I came to see; 

*From "The Letters of Charles Dickens/' edited by his 
sister-in-law and his eldest daughter. The Macmillan Company. 

I7S 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

this is not the republic of my imagination. I infi- 
nitely prefer a liberal monarchy — even with its sick- 
ening accompaniments of court circulars — to such a 
government as this. The more I think of its youth 
and strength, the poorer and more trifling in a thou- 
sand aspects it appears in my eyes. In everything of 
which it has made a boast — excepting its education 
of the people and its care for poor children — it sinks 
immeasurably below the level I had placed it upon; 
and England, even England, bad and faulty as the old 
land is, and miserable as millions of her people are, 
rises in the comparison. 

Yoti live here, Macready, as I have sometimes heard 
you imagining! Yon I Loving you with all my heart 
and soul, and knowing what your disposition really 
is, I would not condemn you to a year's resi- 
dence on this side of the Atlantic for any money. Free- 
dom of opinion! Where is it? I see a press more 
mean, and paltry, and silly, and disgraceful than any 
country I ever knew. If that is its standard, here it is. 
But I speak of Bancroft, and am advised to be silent 
on that subject, for he is "a black sheep — a Democrat.'' 
I speak of Bryant, and am entreated to be more care- 
ful, for the same reason. I speak of international 
copyright, and am implored not to ruin myself out- 
right. I speak of Miss Martineau, and all parties — 
Slave Upholders and Abolitionists, Whigs, Tyler 
Whigs, and Democrats, shovv^er down upon me a per- 
fect cataract of abuse. *'But what has she done? 
Surely she praised America enough!" "Yes, but she 
told us of some of our faults, and Americans can't 
bear to be told of their faults. Don't split on that 

176 



AMERICAN ECHOES 

rock, Mr. Dickens, don't write about America ; we are 
so very suspicious." 

Freedom of opinion! Macready, if I had been born 
here and had written my books in this country, pro- 
ducing them with no stamp of approval from any other 
land, it is my solemn belief that I should have lived 
and died poor, unnoticed, and a ''black sheep'' to 
boot. I never was more convinced of anything than 
I am of that. 

The people are affectionate, generous, open-hearted, 
hospitable, enthusiastic, good-humored, polite to wo- 
men, frank and candid to all strangers, anxious to 
oblige, far less prejudiced than they have been de- 
scribed to be, frequently polished and refined, very 
seldom rude or disagreeable. I have made a great 
many friends here, even in public conveyances, whom 
I have been truly sorry to part from. In the towns I 
have formed perfect attachments. I have seen none of 
that greediness and indecorousness on which travelers 
have laid so much emphasis. I have returned frank- 
ness with frankness; met questions not intended to be 
rude, with answers meant to be satisfactory; and 
have not spoken to one man, woman, or child of any 
degree w^ho has not grow^n positively affectionate be- 
fore we parted. In the respects of not being left 
alone, and of being horribly disgusted by tobacco 
chewing and tobacco spittle, I have suffered consid- 
erably. The sight of slavery in Virginia, the hatred 
of British feeling upon the subject, and the miserable 
hints of the impotent indignation of the South, have 
pained me very much; on the last head, of course, I 
have felt nothing but a mingled pity and amusement; 

177 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 
on the other, sheer distress. But, however much I 
Hke the ingredients of this great dish, I cannot but 
come back to the point upon which I started, and say 
that the dish itself goes against the grain with me, 
and that I don't Hke it. 

You know that I am truly a Liberal. I believe I 
have as little pride as most men, and I am conscious 
of not the smallest annoyance from being ''hail fellow 
well met'' with everybody. * '^ ! "^ It is not these 
things I have in my mind when I say that the man who 
comes to this country a Radical and goes home again 
with his opinions unchanged, must be a Radical on 
reason, sympathy, and reflection, and one who has 
so well considered the subject that he has no chance 
of wavering. 

Extract from a letter to Mr. Thomas Milton, March 22, 
1842: 

In every town where we stay, though it be only for 
a day, we hold a regular levee or drawing-room, where 
I shake hands on an average with five or six hundred 
people, who pass on from me to Kate, and are shaken 
again by her. Maclise's picture of our darlings stands 1 
upon a table or sideboard the while, and my travel- 
ing secretary, assisted very often by a committee be- 
longing to the place, presents the people in due form. 
Think of two hours of this every day, and the peo- 
ple coming in by hundreds, all fresh, and piping hot, 
and full of questions, when we are literally exhausted 
and can hardly stand. I really do believe that if I 
had not a lady with me, I should have been obliged 
to leave the country and go back to England. But 
for her they never would leave me alone by day or 



178 



I 



DICKENS'S OPAIMISM OF AMERICA 

night, and as it is, a slave comes to me now and then 
in the middle of the night with a letter, and waits at 
the bedroom door for an answer. 

Extract from letter to Mr. Henry Austin, May i, 1842: 

I am glad you exult in the fight I have had about 
the copyright. If you knew how they tried to stop 
me, you would have a still greater interest in it. The 
great men in England have sent me out, through 
Forster, a very manly, and becoming, and spirited 
memorial and address, backing me in all I have done. 
I have despatched it to Boston for publication, and am 
coolly prepared for the storm it will raise. But my 
best rod is in pickle. 

Is it not a horrible thing that scoundrel booksellers 
should grow rich here from publishing books, the 
authors of which do not reap one farthing from their 
issue by scores of thousands; and that every vile, 
blackguard, and detestable newspaper, so filthy and 
bestial that no honest man would admit one into his 
house for a scullery doormat, should be able to pub- 
lish those same writings side by side, cheek by jowl, 
with the coarsest and most obscene companions with 
which they must become connected, in course of time, 
in people's minds? Is it tolerable that besides being 
robbed and rifled an author should be forced to ap- 
pear in any form, in any vulgar dress, in any atrocious 
company; that he should have no choice of his audi- 
ence, no control over his own distorted text, and that 
he should be compelled to jostle out of the course the 
best men in this country who only ask to live by writ- 
ing? I vow before high heaven that my blood so 
boils at these enormities, that when I speak about them 

179 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

I seem to grow twent}^ feet high, and to swell out in 
proportion. "Robbers that ye are/' I think to myself 
when I get upon my legs, ''here goes !" 



ABOUT '^AMERICAN NOTES."* 
The truth is, that, contrary to the predictions of 
the conductors of the vile penny press, and greatly to 
their disappointment, Mr. Dickens has written a very 
fair and impartial book about this country; not very 
creditable, I think, to its author as a literary produc- 
tion, and not by any means so amusing as might have 
been expected from a writer who, in his previous 
works, has afforded us so m_uch and such highly 
wrought and varied amusement. It is written care- 
lessly; his sketches are drawn from hasty observation, 
and it is evident that his volatile wing has not rested 
long enough in one place to enable him to understand 
its peculiarities nor to discourse wisely upon its char- 
acteristics. But the public institutions of the country, 
its manufacturing establishments, hospitals, prisons, 
courts, and colleges are praised and censured with 
equal justice and impartiality, and not unfrequently 
most favorably contrasted with similar institutions 
in his own country. 

SYNOPSIS OF ''MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT"* 

Dickens began one of his prefaces to "Martin Chuzzle- 
wit" with the remark, "My main object in this story was, to 
exhibit in a variety of aspects the commonest of all vices; 

*From 'The Diary of Philip Hone." Dodd, Mead & Co. 
*From "Synopses of Dickens's Novels/' by J. Walker Mc- 
Spadden. Thomas Y. Crowell and Company. 

i8o 



AMERICAN ECHOES 

to show how selfishness propagates itself ; and to what a grim 
giant it may grow, from small beginnings." Special stress 
is given to hypocrisy in the person of Pecksniff; and the re- 
verse pictures of simple-hearted service and kindness are 
afforded in Tom Pinch and Mark Tapley. The book like- 
wise contains a side issue in the shape of sundry American 
scenes. 

Martin Chuzzlewit, Senior, is an obstinate, selfish, and 
suspicious old man, who comes of a grasping family, and 
who is hounded by relatives eager to inherit his wealth He 
spurns them all except his grandson, Martin Chuzzlewit, 
Junior. The old man has also befriended an orphan girl, 
Mary Graham, who is his faithful and devoted attendant, 
though told plainly that she need expect no bequest. The 
young Martin and Mary fall in love with each other, much to 
the grandfather's distaste, whose own plans are upset thereby. 
His grandson is no less obstinate and selfish, so the two men 
quarrel and separate — Mary remaining with ^lartin Senior. 

The young man now falls into the clutches of a distant 
kinsman, Seth Pecksniff, an ''architect and surveyor," living 
near Salisbury in Wiltshire. Pecksniff pretends to run a 
select school in these subjects; but, like everything else with 
which he is connected, it is only pretense, for he is a master 
of pious hypocrisy. Pecksniff receives the young man with 
open arms, thinking thus to placate the older one and per- 
haps provide a husband for one of his two daughters, Char- 
ity and Mercy. The only other inmate of this household, 
when Martin Junior enters it, is Tom Pinch, a kind-hearted 
fellow of simple nature, who appears prematurely aged. 
Tom's one hallucination is in respect to Pecksniff, whom he 
regards as his benefactor, although that man was never known 
to do disinterested kindness to any one. 

Martin Junior's stay with Pecksniff is brief. The grand- 
father hears of his presence there and asks that he be dis- 
missed. Pecksniff, delighted to see this turn in affairs, loses 
no time in getting rid of his guest. The latter goes to Amer- 
ica, being joined, on his departure, by Mark Tapley, a jovial 
fellow who has been assistant at the Blue Dragon tavern in 
Wiltshire. Mark has conceived a great liking for the buxom 

i8i 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

landlady of this tavern, which liking is reciprocated; but he 
deems that his present mission is to seek trouble in order to 
come out strong on being jolly, as he whimsically expresses 
it. He voluntarily seeks service with the younger Martin. 

Arrived in America, they stop a short time in New York, 
where they obtain a queer idea of manners and customs from 
the people with whom they come in contact. They then hear 
of a Western town of Eden which is mapped as a flourishing 
community. Martin expends their joint slender hoard in the 
purchase of lots, intending to settle there as architect. A 
ride of several days upon a small steamboat brings them to 
the place, and reveals it to be a swamp, whose few settlers 
are paying the penalty of existence there with their lives. 

Meanwhile in England, Pecksniff's affairs are apparently 
progressing. Martin Senior seems to be falling imder the influ- 
ence of his oily tongue. Pecksniff takes his daughters to 
London on a visit. They stop at Mrs. Todgers's boarding- 
house, where the young men lodgers toast them royally. 
Their cousin, Jonas Chuzzlewit, also shows great interest in 
their welfare and has them dine with his father and him- 
self. The father, Anthony Chuzzlewit, is a brother of the 
elder Martin, though the two men have long been estranged. 
Anthony also has the family trait of selfishness which is trans- 
mitted with interest to his son. In their case it takes the 
form of niggardliness and low cunning. Jonas becomes so 
grasping that he wishes for his father's death. The old man 
dies suddenly about this time, much to Jonas's terror, but 
later relief. Pecksniff takes charge of the funeral. A short 
time afterward Jonas makes a proposal of marriage to one 
of the Misses Pecksniff; but contrary to the general expec- 
tation, he chooses Mercy the younger. 

In the second part of the narrative, Jonas becomes a di- 
rector in the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life 
Insurance Company, a wild-cat concern whose pro- 
moter, Tigg Montague, alias Montague Tigg, has been 
introduced in a lowlier guise earlier in the book. 
Jonas takes stock in the concern; and Tigg, in order to get 
Jonas wholly under his power, sets a spy at work on his 

1S2 



AMERICAN ECHOES 

past history. The spy later discovers facts of a doubtful 
character in connection with the death of Jonas's father; and 
these facts are held over Jonas's head with the effect of 
placing him wholly at the mercy of Tigg. 

Jonas promises to inveigle Pecksniff into placing money 
in the concern. He and Tigg proceed to Wiltshire, and soon 
ensnare Pecksniff to the extent of his available funds. Jonas 
meanwhile has been plotting to murder Tigg in order, as he 
thinks, to suppress the damaging secret against himself. He 
waylays Tigg in a lonely wood and despatches him. 

This bloody deed, however, is preceded by other events 
of more or less importance. Pecksniff has apparently wormed . 
his way into the good graces of Martin Senior, and the latter 
and Mary Graham are now living at his house. Mercy is mar- 
ried to Jonas, who mistreats her brutally; and Charity has 
gone to Mrs. Todgers^s to live. Pecksniff therefore finds no 
apparent obstacle to a plan for keeping Martin under his in- 
fluence. He pays court to Mary with intent to make her his 
wife. The defenceless girl appeals to Tom, Pecksniff's only 
friend. Tom's eyes are at last opened to Pecksniff's baseness ; 
but the latter forestalls him by dismissing him from his 
service. 

Tom proceeds to London, and visits his old-time friend, 
John Westlock, a former pupil of Pecksniff's. John offers 
to share his own apartments with him; but Tom sets up an 
establishment for him^self and his sister Ruth, a trim little 
woman who has been a governess. Mysterious aid now comes 
to Tom in the shape of a post as small librarian, the owner of 
this library being unknown to him. 

In America the fortunes of the younger Martin and 
Mark Tapley reach their lowest ebb. Swamp-fever attacks 
them in the river settlement where they locate. Each in turn 
is brought to death's door, but recovers. They receive finan- 
cial aid from an American friend, and return to England. 
The experience, however, has had one good result in Mar- 
tin's case. It has revealed to him his own mistakes of self- 
interest, and he profits by the lesson. He goes to his grand- 
father and asks forgiveness, but Pecksniff interposes and 

183 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

prevents a reconciliation. The young man then returns to 
London, seeks out Tom Pinch, and through him and West- 
lock stumbles upon some dark secrets in Jonas's career. 

Old Martin also learns of the situation. Jonas is con- 
fronted with the charge of having poisoned his father. He 
clears himself by the narrowest margin, only to be seized 
for the more recent murder of Tigg. On his way to prison 
he poisons himself and dies. 

Old Martin is now revealed to be Tom Pinch's secret 
benefactor, and found to be not wholly given to selfishness. 
He uses Tom's library one morning as a general rendezvous 
for several people who are surprised to meet there: young 
Martin and Mary Graham ; Tom Pinch and his sister ; John 
Westlock : Mark Tapley and the landlady of the Blue Dragon ; 
and finally Pecksniff. The latter's villainy and boot-licking, 
long noted in secret by the older Martin, are brought to light, 
and he receives punishment both corporal and mental at his 
hands. This aged man now proves fairy godfather to all 
others present. Young Martin is forgiven, and presented 
with the hand of Mary. John Westlock is put in the way 
of winning Ruth Pinch. Mark Tapley and the landlady join 
hands. And Tom Pinch, the lover of all, and beloved by all, 
remains with old Martin the good genius of the group. Tom's 
one secret sorrow, a love for Mary, is tempered by succeeding 
years of serenity, full of music, awakened by his own hands 
on his beloved instrument, the organ. 

Pecksniff sinks into the obscurity of a begging letter- 
writer. Mercy is cared for by old Martin. Qiarity all but 
inveigles a young boarder at Todgers's into marriage, but is 
herself deceived. Other characters of importance, not pre- 
viously mentioned, are Chuffey, the pathetic, antiquated clerk 
rescued from Jonas's clutches ; Bailey, the remarkable boy first 
met at Todgers's; "Poll'' Sweedlepipe, the barber; Betsey 
Prig, type of the early rough hospital nurse; and last but 
not least her friend "Saire)r" Gamp, the midwife and nurse 
whose garrulity and belief in an imaginary Mrs. Harris — to 
say nothing of other traits — have developed her into a fixed 
type in literature. 

184 



X 

"DAVID COPPERFIELD" 

*To return to Mr. Dickens's new book — ''David Cop- 
perfield/' one of the finest and certainly one of the 
most popular of its author's works. The first number 
appeared May ist, 1849, with illustrations by "Phiz." 

* * * It has often been hinted that in many ways 
it is partly autobiographical — the hero beginning at the 
law, turning parliamentary reporter, and finally wind- 
ing up as a successful novelist, all of which the world 
knows have been Mr. Dickens's experiences. In fact, 
it is generally believed to occupy the same position to 
Dickens as "Pendennis" does to Thackeray. 

t "David Copperfield," 1849-50, is so obviously and 
transparently autobiographical, * * * that it can- 
not be necessary to do more than make a few com- 
ments on it here. 

The tale opens at Blunderstone or Blundeston in 
Suffolk, six miles from Yarmouth, and farther on in 
the story, David is at school at Canterbury; but it is 
certain that Dickens never was at Yarmouth till Janu- 
ary, 1849 (when he was thirty-seven years of age), 
and he probably never saw Canterbury in his boyhood 
at all. It is very likely, therefore, that but for an evi- 

♦Frorn "Charles Dickens; The Story of his Life." By 
J. Camden Hotten. London: John Camden Hotten, Publisher. 

fFrom "The Childhood and Youth of Charles Dickens," 
By Robert Langton. London : Hutchinson & Co. 

185 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

dent intention to obscure his own identity in this tale, 
Charles Dickens would have written Portsmouth in- 
stead of Yarmouth, and Rochester instead of Canter- 
bury j ^ * * 

There is in Chap. XIII. an interesting account of 
David's flight from London, and his passing through 
Rochester, and sleeping by the side of a garrison gun, 
in one of the batteries just above his old house on the 
Brook. * He iJc 

The great secret of the success of "David Copper- 
fiefd" is undoubtedly this™tfiar'not only has Charles 
Dickens, as it were, breathed into it the breath of 
his own life, but, as his friend Mr. Forster has beau- 
tifully said, ''Childhood and youth live again for all 
of us in its marvelous boy-experiences." 

DICKENS'S MASTERPIECE 

*Early in 1849 Charles Dickens began to prepare the 
story which is universally claimed to be his master- 
piece, and shares with 'Tickwick'' the honor of being 
the most popular of his novels. As in the case of 
"Martin Chuzzlewit," there was a difficulty at the 
outset in choosing a title, some of the suggestions cer- 
tainly not commending themselves either in the matter 
of suitability or brevity. ^ * * 

When meditating the story, Dickens gathered some 
material for it in the Eastern Counties. It was at one 
time supposed, from the vividness of David Copper- 
field's earliest experiences, that the locality must have 

*From "The Novels of Charles Dickens." By F. G. Kit- 
ton. Elliott Stock. 

186 



^^DAVID COPPERFIELD" 

been familiar to the author's own boyhood, but, when 
writing to Mr. Forster on January 12th, 1849, he said 
that he had just visited Yarmouth for the first time, 
which town he characterized as ''the strangest place in 
the wide world,'' and thereupon decided to ''try his 
hand" at it. The outcome of this resolution was that 
he made it the home of Little Em'ly, and it was on 
that occasion that the author actually saw the dwelling- 
house constructed from an old boat, which he has im- 
mortalized as the primitive, but cozy, residence of 
Mr. Peggotty. It stood, as described, on the open 
"Denes'' at Yarmouth, between the sea and the town, 
whence could then be obtained an uninterrupted view 
of the German Ocean. "^ * ""''' 

Although the question of title was satisfactorily 
disposed of, there were still certain difficulties that be- 
set the novelist at the opening of this romance. *'My 
hand is out in the matter of 'Copperfield,' " he wrote 
in great tribulation to Mr. Forster. "Today" [April 
19th, 1849] ''and yesterday I have done nothing. 
Though I know what I want to do, I am lumbering 
on like a stage-wagon, . . . and the long Copper- 
fieldian perspective looks snowy and thick, this fine 
morning." Once fairly launched, however, the taie 
bore him irresistibly along; it proceeded rapidly and 
pleasantly, and more smoothly, perhaps, than any 
other of his books. On June 6th he said: "I feel, 
thank God, quite confident in the story. I have a move 
in it ready for this month; another for next; and an- 
other for the next." On the 25th of the same month 
he wrote to Mark Lemon, advising him to "Get a 
clean pocket-handkerchief ready for the close of 'Cop- 

187 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

perfield' No. 3; 'Simple and quiet, but very natural 
and touching.' — Evening Bore!' (This number con- 
tained an affecting account of the death and burial of 
David's mother.) ^' "^ ^' October 21st he intimated to his 
future biographer that the close of the story was at 
hand: ''I am within three pages of the shore,'' he 
said ; "and am strangely divided, as usual in such cases, 
between sorrow and joy. Oh, my dear Forster, if I 
were to say half of, what 'Copperfield' makes me feel 
tonight, how strangely, even to you, I should be turned 
inside out ! I seem to be sending some part of myself 
into the Shadowy World." Thus we see how real to 
the great novelist were the plots he invented and the 
characters he created. 

It is now well known that *'David Copperfield" is 
partly an autobiography, although to w^hat extent the 
v/orld was unaware until the author had passed away. 
In an unpublished letter addressed by Dickens to Mrs, 
Howitt, September 7th, 1859, he said that he had 
worked "many childish experiences and many young 
struggles into 'Copperfield.' " Its autobiographical 
facts, however, form only the materials for intellectual 
and imaginative treatment, and as Dr. Peter Bayne 
observes, "it is to the wisdom of that running com- 
ment which Dickens makes upon them that they owe 
their best value.'' Reading between the lines of this 
fascinating novel, the nature of the novelist's early 
misfortunes are revealed to us, such as his uncongenial 
occupation at the Blacking Warehouse on Hunger- 
ford Stairs; we are thus enabled to realize, also, the 
difficulties he encountered in mastering shorthand, and 
his anxious attempts at authorship, all of which fea- 

188 



"DAVID COPPERFIELD" 

tures in David Copperfield's career correspond with 
incidents in Charles Dickens's own life, and to this 
alone may be attributed the principal charm and fasci- 
nation of the story. Nevertheless, Mr. Forster warns 
us against assuming too much with respect to the iden- 
tity of the novelist with his hero, and assures us that 
"the language of fiction reflects only faintly the nar- 
rative of the actual fact/' * * * 

As Charles Dickens's mother unconsciously posed 
as a model for Mrs. Nickleby, so did his father sug- 
gest the personality of Mr. Micawber, in whom are 
sJiadowed forth certain peculiarities of action and 
speech which appertained to Mr. John Dickens. This 
is current belief, and so much is asserted by Mr. 
Forster; but the novelist's eldest son has declared it 
to be absolutely without foundation, "except within 
the limits of the description given in the autobiograph- 
ical sketch, and except as to certain odd phrases and 
turns of expression in speech and letter writing." * * 

In Mr. Forster's biography there is reference to 
"Dora," who met Dickens very early in his career, and 
who, it has been supposed, inspired the character of 
David's "child-wife." * * * 

Dickens's favorite people in "Copperfield" were the 
Peggotty group, and it is fair to assume that certain 
characteristics appertaining to Clara Peggotty were de- 
rived from Mary Weller, who nursed Charles Dickens 
when a child. Mr. Forster declares that the portrait 
of Rosa Dartle was partly drawn from one of the 
novelist's lady friends, with whom he was on excellent 
terms, but whose name is not divulged. Mr. Thomas 
Traddles, who is finally spoken of in the story as the 

189 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

next Judge, is said to have been intended for Sir T, N. 
Talfoiird, one of the author's oldest friends ; their re- 
spective initials are practically identical. * * * 

Although rightly considered a chef d'oeiivre, the cir- 
culation of ''David CopperfieW was not to be com- 
pared with that of previous and succeeding works. * -^ 
On its completion, however, the story enjoyed an enor- 
mous popularity. The author opined that it was ap- 
preciated more than any of his other tales, and that 
he himself preferred it is indicated both in correspond- 
ence with friends and in the Preface to later editions, 
where we read: ''Of all m.y books, I like this the best. 
It will be easily believed that I am a fond parent of 
every child of my fancy, and that no one can ever 
love that family as dearly as I love them. But, like 
many fond parents, I have in my heart of hearts a fav- 
orite child, and his name is 'David Copperfield.' " * * * 

This delightful romance numbered amongst its ad- 
mirers the most eminent critics of the day. Thack- 
eray's beautiful eulogium, placed in the mouth of one 
of his characters, is characteristic of the writer's gen- 
ial disposition : "How beautiful it is — how charmingly 
fresh and simple! In those admirable touches of ten 
der humor, a mixture of love and wit — who can equal 
this great genius?" 

The tale v/as highly extolled by Matthew Arnold, who 
wrote: * ^ * ''To contemporary work so good as 
'David Copperfield' we are in danger of perhaps not 
paying respect enough, of reading it (for who could 
help reading it?) too hastily, and then putting it aside 
for something else and forgetting it. What treasures of 
gaiety, invention, life, are in that book! what alert- 

190 



"DAVID COPPERFIELD" ^ 

ness and resource! what a soul of good-nature and 
kindness governing the whole!" The same writer is 
responsible for the statement that Mr. Gladstone once 
solaced himself with "David Copperfield" after an ill- 
ness, "and so set all good Liberals (of whom I wish 
to be considered one) upon reading it over again." 
Mr. Ruskin holds the opinion that the storm scene in 
"David Copperfield" is one of the finest instances of de- 
scriptive writing; while Dickens himself thought this 
particular scene one of the most effective of his pub- 
lic readings. Professor A. W. Ward looks upon the 
story as "a pearl without a peer among the later fictions 
of our English school," and as the most perfect, as a 
work of art, of all Dickens's fictions; while to Dr. 
Peter Bayne it seemed to "combine the burnished bril- 
liancy of Charlotte Bronte with the ease of Gold- 
smith." 

DORA 



*LiKE Other brilliant youths, he fell in love, and 
with the little girl who is described in "Copperfield." 
Like all else connected w^ith his life, there was to be 
something original and interesting in this episode. 

It is admitted that Dora was a portrait of his first 
love, to whom he was attached, as he himself has told 
us, in an almost desperate way. For three or four 
years his life was filled by the one image. As this 
was the romance of his life, he found himself dwelling 
on it, and reviving it in various ways, particularly 

*From "The Life of Charles Dickens as Revealed in his 
Writings." By Percy Fitgerald. London : Chatto & Windus. 

191 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

when he found that his fancy was kindled and that 
his pen responded. The account of David's introduc- 
tion to the engaging Dora is so passionate, so ecstatic, 
with so much of the "falling over head and ears in 
love,'' that it can only be explained by the fact that 
it was a fervent personal experience rushing vividly 
on him, and which he was describing thus minutely 
because its memories quite overpowered him. This is 
proved by his confessions to Forster of his state at 
the time, and it is the sense of reality that provides 
such an irresistible charm to the portrait and makes 
all love the little creature. Never were so many 
touches of this interesting state of feeling gathered 
together. 

SYNOPSIS OF "DAVID COPPERFIELD'^* 

"The Personal History of David Copperfield" is in many 
respects the personal history of Charles Dickens. The author 
was fond of putting himself and his acquaintances into his 
books, and he has indulged the fondness freely in "David Cop- 
perfield/* The story has long been regarded as autobio- 
graphical in not a few scenes and descriptions. It is this touch 
perhaps most of all, this feeling of genuine sympathy with 
real happenings, v/hich has given the book its permanent and 
just hold upon the hearts of his readers. 

The opening chapter describes the circumstances attend- 
ing the hero's birth. He is a posthumous child, his father 
being dead six months. On the night he is born, the Copper- 
field household is perturbed by the sudden visit of Miss Betsey 
Trotwood, an eccentric great-aunt of the new infant's. Miss 
Betsey departs as suddenly as she has come, and in high dud- 

*From "Synopses of Dickens's Novels," by J. Walker Mc- 
Spadden. Thomas Y Crowell and Company. 

192 



''DAVID COPPERFIELD" 

geon, when she learns that the child is a boy instead of a girl 
who could bear Miss Betsey's name. 

The child's first nurse, and one who is to remain devoted 
to him in later years, is Clara Peggotty — known always as 
plain Peggotty. She and Mrs. Copperfield spend many happy 
hours with the boy until in an evil day, when he is old enough 
to read and notice things for himself, he finds a dark gentle- 
man paying court to his mother. The dark man, Mr. Murd- 
stone, is successful in his suit; and David is spared the pain 
of witnessing the marriage by being taken to Peggotty's 
brothers home at Yarmouth. He there meets the brother, 
Dan Peggotty, a rough but true-hearted fisherman, his niece. 
Little Em'ly, Mrs. Gummidge, a widow, and renews ac- 
quaintance with a nephew. Ham Peggotty, a great overgrown 
boy. These people live in quaint but comfortable fashion in a 
house improvised from an overturned boat. They take a great 
liking to the small David and he to them. He makes a sweet- 
heart of Little EmUy. 

On his return home he learns of his mother's marriage. 
The home is changed from a place of joy to a gloomy prison. 
His stepfather, a stem, forbidding man who preaches firm- 
ness, has no love for the boy, but treats him harshly. His 
mother is powerless to protect him, as her pliant will is dom 
inated by that of her husband, who is re-enforced by a no 
less stern spinster sister, Jane Murdstone. 

When David is about nine years old he is sent away to 
boarding-school, Salem House, kept by a brutal taskmaster, 
Creakle, who systematically maltreats his pupils. David's life 
is not altogether unhappy, however, as he makes several 
friends among his mates, two especial ones being James Steer- 
forth and Tommy Traddles. Steerforth is the head-boy, and 
his easy patronage of David w^ins the lad's thorough affection. 
After a few months, David's schooling is cut s,hort by his 
mother's death. Peggotty takes him on another visit to Yar- 
mouth, and he meanwhile aids the peculiar courtship of 
Barkis, a stage driver who "is willin' " to marry Peggotty and 
who finally succeeds in doing so. 

David's stepfather now puts him out as a chore boy 

193 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

in a bottling establishment, where the lad receives a bare 
living wage, and is left without friends or counsel. He is 
lodged by Mr. and Mrs. Micawber, a sanguine but im- 
pecunious couple who show him kindness in their own singu- 
lar way. Micawber, however, is waiting for "something 
to turn up," so makes use of David rather than aids him^. 
Nevertheless, a strong friendship grows up between them. 

The boy's position at the bottling house grows so intoler- 
able that he runs away, and takes refuge with his great- 
aunt, Betsey Trotwood, who shelters him, and relieves the 
Murdstones of further connection with his affairs. Another 
of her proteges is a simple-minded man called Mr. Dick, 
whose chief occupation is to fly large kites and write Memo- 
rials of King Charles the First. Miss Betsey places David 
in a school of the right sort, that of Dr. Strong at Dover, 
and the boy lives at the pleasant home of an attorney, Wick- 
field, whose daughter Agnes, about David's own age, comes 
to be regarded by him as tenderly as a sister. The attor- 
ney's clerk, Uriah Heep, is noted for his fawming ways, his 
" 'umbleness," and his cold, clammy hands, but through his 
and his mother's servility he gradually gains an evil control 
over Wickfield's business. 

After Copperfield completes his schooling, he spends 
a short vacation with the Peggottys at the seashore. He 
is accompanied by Steerforth whom he has accidentally met. 
Both the young men greatly admire Little Em'ly, who has 
grown to be a pretty woman and is engaged to marry Ham, 
and unknown to Copperfield, who has an abiding love for 
Steerforth, the latter lays plans to entrap Em'ly into eloping 
with him. 

David Copperfield chooses law as his profession, and 
his aunt establishes him with Spenlow and Jorkins in Lon- 
don, and leases some bachelor apartments for him. David's 
impressionable heart meanwhile has received a series of 
shocks on account of various members of the fairer sex; and 
finally gets the worst shock of all when he meets Spen- 
low's daughter Dora. She is chaperoned by the terrible Miss 
Murdstone of David's youth, yet the two young people find 
opportunities to cultivate each other's acquaintance. 

194 



^'DAVID COPPERFIELD" 

The beginning of the second book of David Copperiield's 
"History" is marked by gloom. Peggott3^'s husband Barkis 
dies while David is visiting at Yarmouth, and Stecrforth finally 
succeeds in persuading Little Em'ly to go abroad secretly with 
him. The deluded girl hopes to induce him to marry her 
and thus make her "a lady." The despair in the Peggotty 
home is intense. Em'ly's uncle sets out in search of her. 
The finances of David's Aunt Betsey also come to a bad 
state at this juncture, and he is thrown upon his own re- 
sources. He obtains a position as secretary to Dr. Strong, 
his former schoolmaster, and occupies his odd hours in the 
study of shorthand, being assisted by his old friend, Tommy 
Traddles, who at one time had lodged with the Micawbers, 
and is now aspiring to the practice of law. David finally mas- 
ters shorthand and obtains a position as Parliamentary re- 
porter; but meanwhile his dejection at the unhappy turn of 
affairs is increased by the shadow hovering over Agnes and 
her father, who have fallen into the clutches of the rascally 
Heep, and by the refusal of Dora's father to consider David's 
courtship. But Spenlow dies suddenly, and the two young 
people who have been secretly engaged for some time now 
marry. David is turned twenty-one. 

While their wedded life is happy, David does not find 
a helpmate in his "child-wife." She does not pretend to 
housekeeping ability, but finds her dog Jip more en- 
grossing. David meanwhile begins to attain distinction as 
an author. Certain magazine pieces are successful and he 
begins his first book. After he has been married a j^ear or 
two, he and Mr. Peggotty hear news of Em'ly and succeed 
in rescuing her. The Peggottys determine to emigrate to 
Australia. 

At this point comes a crisis in the affairs of Agnes, her 
father, and Heep. The latter has let Micawber into 
the secret of his plots and Micawber exposes him. 
Uriah is brought to bay, and made to disgorge his gains, in- 
cluding Betsey Trotwood's property. Agnes and her father 
are freed from their enemy. The Micawbers are advanced 
enough money to allow them to emigrate to Australia, where 

195 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

something finally "turns up.'' They go with Dan Peggotty 
and his niece. Her betrayer, Steerforth, is driven ashore at 
this time by a storm at sea, and Ham loses his own life 
in the vain effort to rescue him. 

Copperfield's sorrow on account of his friend's distresses 
is heightened by personal loss. His child-w^ife gradually fades 
away. After her death he travels for three years in foreign 
lands, seeking rest from his load of grief. He finds it at 
last in renewed literary work which brings him fame, and 
in the thought of Agnes, his life-long inspiration. He dis- 
covers at last that his strongest love is and has been for 
her, and they become united. 

Of the other characters, not already outlined, the emi- 
grants meet with success in Australia; Miss Betsey and Peg- 
gotty live to a ripe old age ; Traddles rises in his profession 
and marries happily, though he comes near to adopting his 
wife's w^hole family; and poor Mr. Dick is found a highly 
valuable man on several occasions, most of all when he aids 
in reconciling Dr. Strong with his young wife, Annie. 



196 



XI 

^'BLEAK HOUSE," "HARD TIMES" AND "LIT- 
TLE DORRIT" 

Household Words, a weekly paper whose name was 
changed later on to All the Year Round, was founded 
by Dickens in 1849. The "Child's History of Eng- 
land" and "Hard Times" were its best known contri- 
butions from Dickens's pen. In 1851 the novelist came 
to the conclusion that his family of eight children 
needed more generous accommodations than could be 
had at i Devonshire Terrace where he had lived for 
some twelve years, and he bought the lease of Tavis- 
tock House in Tavistock Square and proceeded to make 
improvements. 

*These alterations and reparations, which were ap- 
parently on a somewhat extensive scale, were carried 
out under the superintendence of his brother-in-law, 
Henry Austin, an architect and sanitary engineer, to 
whom Dickens (harassed by delays in the work) wrote 
despairingly as follows: 

"Broadstairs, 
"Sunday, September 7, 185 1. 
"My dear Henry, 

"I am in that state of mind which you may (once) 
have seen described in the newspapers as 'bordering on 
distraction,' the house given up to me, the fine weather 

*From "The Dickens Country," by Frederick G. Kitton. 
A. and C. Black and the Macmillan Company. 

197 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

going on (soon to break, I dare say), the printing sea- 
son oozing away, my new book ('Bleak House') 
waiting to be born, and 

''No Workmen on the Premises, 
along of my not hearing from you ! ! I have torn all 
my hair off, and constantly beat my unoffending fam- 
ily. Wild notions have occurred to me of sending in 
my own plumber to do the drains. Then I remember 
that 3^ou have probably written to propose your man, 
and restrain my audacious hand. Then Stone pre- 
sents himself, with a most exasperatingly mysterious 
visage, and says that a rat has appeared in the kitchen, 
and it's his opinion (Stone's, not the rat's) that the 
drains want 'compo-ing;' for the use of which ex- 
plicit language I could fell him without remorse. In 
my horrible desire to 'compo' everything, the very post- 
man becomes my enemy, because he brings no letter 
from you; and, in short, I don't see what's to become 
of me unless I hear from you tomorrow, which I have 
not the least expectation of doing. 

"Going over the house again, I have materially al- 
tered the plans, abandoned conservatory and front 
balcony, decided to make Stone's painting-room the 
drawing-room (it is nearly six inches higher than the 
room below), to carry the entrance passage right 
through the house to a back door leading to the gar- 
den, and to reduce the once intended drawing-room 
— now schoolroom — to a manageable size, making a 
door of communication between the new drawing- 
room and the study. Curtains and carpets, on a scale 
of awful splendor and magnitude, are already in prepa- 
ration, and still — still — 



"BLEAK HOUSE" 

"No Workmen on the Premises, 
"To pursue this theme is madness. Where are you ? 
When are you coming home? Where is the man who 
is to do the work? Does he know that an army of 
artificers must be turned in at once, and the whole 
thing finished out of hand? 

"O rescue Tae from my present condition. Come up 
to the scratch, I entreat and implore you! 

"I send this to Laetitia (Mrs. Austin) to forward, 
"Being, as you well know why, 
Completely floored by N. W.,"*" I 
Sleep! 
I hope you may be able to read this. My state of mind 
does not admit of coherence. 

"Ever affectionately, 

"Charles Dickens..'' 
"P. S. — No Workmen on the Premises! 
"Ha! ha; ha! (I am laughing demoniacally)." 

Other letters followed, testifying to the highly nerv- 
ous condition and impatience of the writer, who, in cer- 
tain characteristic missives, said: 

"I am perpetually wandering (in fancy) up and 
down the house (Tavistock House) and tumbling over 
workmen; when I feel that they are going to dinner, 
I become low; when I look forward to their total ab- 
stinence on Sundays, I am wretched. The gravy at 
dinner has a taste of glue in it. I smell paint in the 
sea. Phantom lime attends me all the day long. I 
dream that I am a carpenter, and can't partition oflf 
the hall. I frequently dance (with a distinguished 
*I. e., no workmen. 

199 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

company) in the dressing-room, and fall in the kitchen 
for want of a pillar. ... I dream, also, of the 
workmen every night. They make faces at me, and 
won't do anything. . . . Oh! if ^his were to last 
long; the distractions of the new book, the whirling 
of the story through one's mind, escorted by workmen, 
the imbecility, the wild necessity of beginning to write, 
the not being able to do so, the — O! I should go — O!" 

The house, after all, w^s not ready to receive him at 
the stipulated time, for it proved to be as difficult to 
get the workmen off the premises as to get them on, 
and at the end of October they were still busy in their 
own peculiar manner, the painters mislaying their 
brushes every five minutes, and chiefly whistling in the 
intervals, while the carpenters "continued to look side- 
ways with one eye down pieces of wood, as if they 
were absorbed in the contemplation of the perspective 
of the Thames Tunnel, and had entirely relinquished 
the vanities of this transitory world." With white lime 
in the kitchens, blank paper constantly spread on draw- 
ing-room walls and shred off again, men clinking at 
the new stair-rails, Irish laborers howling in the school- 
room (''but I don't know why"), the gardener vig- 
orously lopping the trees, something like pandemonium 
reigned supreme, and the "Inimitable" mentally blessed 
the day when silence and order at length succeeded, 
permitting him once more to settle down to his desk, 
and to concentrate his thoughts upon the new serial, 
"Bleak House," the writing of which was begun at the 
end of November, 185 1 — on a Friday, too, regarded by 
him as his lucky day. 

Of "Bleak House" Forster says: 

200 



"BLEAK HOUSE" 

* * * The novel is nevertheless, in the very im- 
portant particular of construction, perhaps the best 
thing done by Dickens.* 

In his later writings he had been assiduously culti- 
vating this essential of his art, and here he brought it 
very nearly to perfection. * * * Nothing is in- 
troduced at random, everything tends to the catastro- 
phe, the various lines of the plot converge and fit to its 
center, and to the larger interest all the rest is irresisti- 
bly drawn. The heart of the story is a Chancery suit. 
On this the plot hinges, and on incidents connected with 
it, trivial or important, the passion and suffering turn 
exclusively. Chance words, or the deeds of chance 
people, to appearance irrelevant, are found everywhere 
influencing the course taken by a train of incidents of 
which the issue is life or death, happiness or misery, 
to men and women perfectly unknown to them, and to 
whom they are unknown. * * * 

What in one sense is a merit, however, may in others 
be a defect, and this book has suffered by the very 
completeness with which its Chancery moral is worked 
out. The didactic in Dickens's earlier novels derived 
its strength from being merely incidental to interest 
of a higher and more permanent kind, and not in a 
small degree from the playful sportiveness and fancy 
that lighted up its graver illustrations. Here it is of 
sterner stuff, too little relieved, and all- pervading. The 
fog so marvelously painted in the opening chapter has 
hardly cleared av/ay when there arises, in Jarndyce 
vs. Jarndyce, as bad an atmosphere to breathe in ; and 

♦From "The Life of Charles Dickens," by John Forster. 
Chapman and Hall and J. B. Lippincott Co. 

201 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

thenceforward to the end, clinging round the people of 
the story as they come or go, in dreary mist or in heavy 
cloud, it is rarely absent. Dickens has himself de- 
scribed his purpose to have been to dwell on the ro- 
mantic side of familiar things. But it is the romance 
of discontent and misery, with a very restless dissatis- 
fied moral, and is too much brought about by agencies 
disagreeable and sordid. * * * 

''We have been reading 'Bleak House' aloud," the 
good Dean Ramsay wrote to me very shortly before 
his death. "Surely it is one of his most powerful 
and successful! What a triumph is Jo! Uncultured 
nature is there indeed; the intimations of true heart- 
feeling, the glimmerings of higher feeling, all are there ; 
but everything still consistent and in harmony. Won- 
derful is the genius that can show all this, yet keep it 
only and really part of the character itself, low or com- 
mon as it may be, and use no morbid or fictitious col- 
oring. To my mind, nothing in the field of fiction is to 
be found in English literature surpassii]g the death of 
Jo!" 

*In consequence of certain statements which reached 
Dickens respecting the Jarndyce case, the novelist 
was impelled to defend his assertions. In his Preface 
he declared that everything set forth in the pages of 
"Bleak House" concerning the Court of Chancery is 
"substantially true, and within the truth," and further 
intimated that if he wanted other authorities for "Jarn- 
dyce and Jarndyce," he "could rain them on these 
pages, to the shame of — a parsimonious public." Sim- 

*From 'The Novels of Charles Dickens," by F. G. Kit- 
ton. London: Eliott Stock. 

202 



''BLEAK HOUSE" 

ilarly, the extraordinary death of Krook by sponta- 
neous combustion (as related in the novel) excited 
much controversy, that eminent scientist and critic, 
Mr. George Henry Lewes, being strongly opposed to 
the validity of the theory admitted by Dickens. I'he 
novelist, however, maintained his ground, and cite 1 
some notable instances of death thus effected. * ^ ^ 

"Bleak House'' is not merely stored with familiai 
localities, but includes a number of portraits. Two 
of these presentments found prototypes in well-known 
litterateurs — W. S. Landor and Leigh Hunt — who 
were personal friends of the novelist. Landor is ac- 
knowledged to be the original of Lawrence Boythorne. 
* * '^ That Landor did not seriously resent the lib- 
erty thus taken with his personality is proved by the 
fact that his 'Tmaginary Conversations of Greeks and 
Romans," published during the time ''Bleak House" 
was being issued, contains a most friendly Dedication 
to Charles Dickens. ^ ^ ^ 

On the other hand, the delineation of Leigh Hunt 
as Harold Skimpole occasioned much offence and in- 
volved an awkward interpretation. When the friends 
of the essayist protested against so unfavorable a pre- 
sentment of the author of "Rimini," Dickens's de- 
fence was that the manner and not the character was 
borrowed. 

* * * The novelist's somewhat extravagant ren- 
dering of the Borrioboola Gha picture was also boldly 
attacked by Miss Harriet Martineau, who, by the way, 
is assumed to have been the original of Mrs. Jellyby. 



203 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 
SYNOPSIS OF ''BLEAK HOUSE"* 

Two dark threads are interwoven to form the plot of 
"Bleak House." The first is a story of public wrong — the 
delays of the English Court of Chancery. The second is a 
story of private wTong — the sin of a woman and her lover. 
These two wrongs singly or collectively cast shadows over a 
great variety of people from a street-sweeper to a baronet; 
but gleaming here and there in the shadows are the sunlit 
rays of pleasant romance. 

During many terms of the Court of Chancery in London 
a suit over a contested will has come up for decision, but 
met with so little progress that it has come to be a jest among 
the legal profession. "Jarndyce and Jarndyce has passed into 
a joke. That is the only good that has ever come of it." It 
has been death to many, meanwhile, and the heart-sick prin- 
cipals would gladly com.promise it if they could; but it is not 
to be got out of, or through, Chancery. One of the last prin- 
cipals, Tom Jarndyce, committed suicide. His kinsman, John 
Jarndyce of Bleak House, will have nothing to do with the 
suit. However, he takes to his home as his wards two other 
parties to the suit, Richard Carstone and Ada Clare — rela- 
tives not yet come of age. In order to provide a companion 
for Ada, he also becomes the guardian of Esther Summer- 
son, a young woman near Ada's age, and the narrator in part 
of a story which henceforth fluctuates between personal and 
impersonal. 

Esther begins her narrative with her earliest years, which 
were passed with a stern but not unkind godmother who dies 
when the girl is in her "teens." This godmother. Miss Bar- 
bary, proves to be Esther's aunt, but will not claim her, since 
the child is illegitimate. Esther is placed in a small board- 
ing school, Miss Donny's, at Greenleaf. Here she remains 
for six years, and being now grown assists by tutoring. It 
is at this juncture that she is invited to become one of the 
inmates of Bleak House, Herefordshire, and meets John 

From "Synopses of Dickens's Novels," by J Walker Mc 
Spadden. Thomas Y. Crowell and Company. 



^^BLEAK HOUSE" 

Jarndyce, a staid, benevolent gentleman past middle life, and 
his two wards. The two girls become devoted comrades 
from the first. Esther is installed as housekeeper. Ada and 
Richard speedily fall in love with each other, a course which 
meets the approval of their guardian. Jarndyce, however, 
does not allow the match to proceed any farther, until the 
lovers come of age, and Richard has become established in 
life. But Richard is a ne'er-do-well. He pins his faith upon 
the ancient lawsuit, instead of working earnestly m a pro- 
fession. He studies medicine for a time, and law for a 
time. Finally he enters the army. 

Esther proves herself a born housekeeper, and also poss- 
esses the faculty of winning general affection. Indeed, she 
has one laughable proposal of marriage from a young law 
clerk named Guppy. Meanwhile life at Bleak House passes 
quietly and pleasantly. Esther makes several acquaintances 
in London and the coimtry, among whom must be mentioned : 
little Miss Flite, a crazy woman attending Chancery in the 
hope that her own hopeless suit will be decided ; Mrs Jellyby, 
a woman so intent on her Mission of colonizing a part of 
Africa that she allows her own home-keeping to take care of 
itself : "Cadd}''" Jellyby, her daughter, of the inky lingers, who 
has had little home training; Mrs. Pardiggle, another woman 
with a Mission ; Harold Skimpole, a trifler with existence, 
who wishes to avoid all responsibility and have other people 
pay his debts ; Lawrence Boythorne, a blustering comrade 
of Jarndyce's; and Allan Woodcourt, a young suro^eon about 
whom Esther has little to say at present. 

Boythorne's neighbors in Lincolnshire are Sir Leicester 
Dedlock and his lady, whose country-seat is Chesney Wold. 
Sir Leicester — as we are informed earlier in the book — is a 
ceremonious gentleman nearly seventy years old. Lady Ded- 
lock is a beautiful woman some twenty years his junior, whom 
he married for love, and who previously had no family posi- 
tion. They live together pleasantly, and Lady Dedlock soon 
becomes one of the proudest ornaments of aristocratic so- 
ciety. Nevertheless, she is cold and reserved, giving the im- 
pression of being always on her guard. This habitual attitude 
of hers arouses the suspicions of Tulkinghorn, the family so- 

205 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

licitor, who begins to hunt for skeletons in the closet. He 
begins with clews seemingly slight in themselves, but uses 
them to harass her ladyship. She has heard of an unknown 
legal copyist who lives over a rag and bottle shop run by 
an old man named Krook. Ihis copyist dies suddenly, and 
after his burial Lady Dedlock gets Jo, a poor street sweeper, 
to point out the gate of the cemetery. These incidents are 
discovered by Tulkinghorn, who interrogates Jo and others 
who may know anything about the mysterious dead man, 
among them Snagsby, a well-meaning but hen-pecked stationer, 
and "Mr. George," the proprietor of a shooting-gallery. Mr. 
George, it develops, was orderly, in the army, to the man, 
then known as Captain Hawdon. Not to anticipate tb.e story 
appreciably at this point, Tulkinghorn gradually learns that 
Lady Dedlock, before her marriage, had a secret love-affair 
with this Captain Hawdon, and gave birth to a child by him, 
the child growing up as Esther Summerson. No one besides 
Tulkinghorn now knows this story, although Esthetes former 
suitor Guppy nearly unearths it through some papers left at 
Krook^s rag shop. Guppy acquaints Lady Dedlock with the ex- 
istence of the papers, and she realizes both the imminence 
of her peril and the fact that Esther is her daughter, this 
fact having been concealed even from her. 

Little Jo, the sweeper, is so harried by Tulkinghorn's 
agents that he leaves London and is sheltered over night at 
Bleak House, where he has the misfortune to leave small- 
pox germs. Esther's maid, "Charley," and Esther herself, 
are seized by the disease, but recover — Esther to find her 
face greatly altered and her beauty gone. When she becomes 
convalescent she visits at Boythorne's home, and privately 
meets near there with Lady Dedlock, who avows her for 
daughter and prays her forgiveness. 

Meanwhile affairs are not going well with Esthers cousin, 
Richard Carstone. He sells his commission in the army to 
avoid disgrace, and comes to London to watch the ill-fated 
lawsuit. Here he falls into the clutches of a trickster lawyer, 
Vholes, who fleeces him; but he finds one friend in Allan 
Woodcourt the surgeon, lately returned from abroad. Be- 

' 206 



"BLEAK HOUSE" 

tween Woodcourt and Esther an unconfessed attachment has 
arisen, and it is at her bidding that he looks after the welfare 
of Richard. Ada also comes as Richard's good angel. She 
marries him secretly and devotes her property to the cause 
he has so blindly followed in Chancery. Esther does not allow 
her own love-affair to proceed, on account of receiving a pro- 
posal from none other than her guardian himself — a man who 
has been so continually good to her that her grateful heart 
cannot find it possible to refuse him. She therefore stifles her 
strongest feelings and accepts Jarndyce. 

Lady Dedlock's affairs approach a crisis, Tulkinghorn has 
completed his case, and threatens her with disclosure. The 
night after his threat he is shot through the heart. Lady 
Dedlock is suspected, as is also George of the shooting-gallery. 
The latter is cleared; but when the lady is anonymously 
charged with the crime, and finds, moreover, that the story 
of her former life has reached Sir Leicester's ears, she flees 
secretly from her home. The detective in charge of the case. 
Bucket, persuades Esther to help him seek her, and assure her 
of her husband's full forgiveness. They trace her for twenty- 
four hours in a snovv^storm, only to find her at last lying dead 
before the gate to her lover's burial ground. As for the 
murder, it is cleverly traced to Mademoiselle Hortense, a for- 
mer maid to Lady Dedlock who held a grudge against both the 
lady and the murdered man. George, the other suspect, now 
turns out to be the long lost son of Mrs. Rouncewell, house- 
keeper to the Dedlocks. 

Esther becomes ill because of her recent trials, but re 
covers and makes preparations for her wedding to her guar- 
dian, who has been made acquainted with her past history. He, 
however, has quietly altered his plans — not on this account, 
but because he discovers the love existing between Esther and 
Woodcourt. Instead of marrying her, Jarndyce generously 
bestows her hand upon the surgeon and gives her a home for 
dowry. 

Only one further shadow falls across Esther's life. The 
lawsuit is ended at last, but the costs have eaten up the pro- 
ceeds of the will. Richard and Ada are rendered penniless, 

20/ 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

and the overstrained man succumbs from the shock. The 
young widow with her boy are henceforth sheltered at Bleak 
House, and the child finds a second mother in Esther. 

Several of the many minor figures in this complicated 
novel have already been mentioned. Others are so clear cut as 
to require notice: Turveydrop, the model of deportment; his 
son Prince, who runs a dancing school and marries Caddy 
Jellyby; Grandfather Smallweed, the money-lender, and his 
uninviting family; the pious Chadband, whose name has be- 
come associated with a certain kind of rambling sermoniz- 
ing; and Phil Squod, the protege of Mr. George. But the 
clearest of these figures is the pathetic one of poor Jo, per- 
petually told to "move on," and realizing that he "don't know 
nothink" to the end of his miserable life. 

"HARD TIMES" AND "LITTLE DORRIT"* 

Chancery had occupied a prominent place in "Bleak 
House/' Philosophical radicalism occupied the same 
kind of position in "Hard Times," v/hich was com- 
menced in the number of Household Words for the 
1st of April, 1854. The book, when afterwards pub- 
lished in a complete form, bore a dedication to Carlyle ; 
and very fittingly so, for much of its philosophy is his. 
Dickens, like Kingsley, and like Mr. Ruskin and Mr. 
Froude, and so many other men of genius and ability, 
had come under the influence of the old Chelsea sage 
And what are the ideas which "Hard Times" is thus 
intended to popularize? These: that men are not 
merely intellectual calculating machines, with reason 
and self-interest for motive power, but creatures pos- 
sessing also affections, feelings, fancy — a whole world 

♦From the "Life of Charles Dickens," by Frank T. Mar- 
zials, in Great Writers Series. Walter Scott. $1.00 and 40c. 

208 



"HARD TIMES" AND "LITTLE DORRIT" 

of emotions that lie outside the ken of the older school 
of political economists. Therefore, to imagine that 
they can live and flourish on facts alone is a fallacy 
and pernicious; as is also the notion that any human 
relations can be permanently established on a basis of 
pure supply and demand. If we add to this an unlim- 
ited contempt for Parliament, as a place where the 
national dustmen are continually stirring the national 
dust to no purpose at all, why then we are pretty well 
advanced in the philosophy of Carlyle. And how does 
Dickens illustrate these points ? We are at Coketown, 
a place, as its name implies, of smoke and manufac- 
ture. Here lives and flourishes Thomas Gradgrind, 
''a man of realities; a man of facts and calculations;" 
not essentially a bad man, but bound in an iron system 
as in a vice. He brings up his children on knowledge, 
and enlightened self-interest exclusively and the boy 
becomes a cub and a mean thief, and the girl marries, 
quite without love, a certain blustering Mr. Boun- 
derby, and is as nearly as possible led astray by the 
first person who approaches her with the language of 
gallantry and sentiment. Mr. Boundcrby, her hus- 
band, is, one may add, a man who, in mere lying 
bounce, makes out his humble origin to be more humble 
than it is. On the other side of the picture are Mr. 
Sleary and his circus troupe; and Cissy Jupe, the 
daughter of the clown; and the almost saintly figures 
of Stephen Blackpool, and Rachel, a working man and 
a working woman. With these people facts are as 
naught, and self-interest as dust in the balance. Mr. 
Sleary has a heart which no brandy-and-water can 
harden, and he enables Mr. Gradgrind to send ofif the 

209 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

wretched cub to America, refusing any guerdon but a 
glass of his favorite beverage. The circus troupe are 
kindly, simple, loving folk. Cissy Jupe p.roves the angel 
of the Gradgrind household. Stephen is the victim 
of unjust persecution on the part of bis own class, is 
suspected, by young Gradgrind's machinations, of the 
theft committed by that young scoundrel, falls into a 
disused pit as he is coming to vindicate his character, 
and only lives long enough to forgive his wrongs, and 
clasp in death the hand of Rachel — a hand which in 
life could not be his, as he had a wife alive who was 
a drunkard and worse. A m^arked contrast, is it not? 
On one side all darkness, and on the other all light. 
The demons of fact and self-interest opposed to the 
angels of fancy and unselfishness. A contrast too vio- 
lent unquestionably. Exaggeration is the fault of the 
novel. One may at once allow, for instance, that 
Rachel and Stephen, though human nature in its infinite 
capacity may include such characters, are scarcely a 
typical working woman and working man. But then 
neither, heaven be praised, are Coupeau the sot, and 
Gervaise the drab, in M. Zola's ''Drink'' — and, for my 
part, I think Rachel and Stephen the better company. 

''Sullen socialism" — such is Macaulay's view of the 
political philosophy of "Hard Times." "Entirely right 
in main drift and purpose" — such is the verdict of Mr. 
Ruskin. Who shall decide between the two? or, if a 
decision be necessary, then I would venture to say, yes, 
entirely right in feeling. Dickens is right in sympathy 
for those who toil and suffer, right in desire to make 
their lives more human and beautiful, right in belief 
that the same human heart beats below all class distinc- 

i 

210 1 



"HARD TIMES" AND '^LITTLE DORRIT' 

tions. But, beyond this a novelist only, not a philoso- 
pher, not fitted to grapple effectively v^ith complex 
social and political problems, and to solve them to right 
conclusions. There are some things unfortunately 
which even the best and kindest instincts cannot ac- 
complish. 

The last chapter of "Hard Times" appeared in the 
number of Household Words for the 12th of August, 
1854, and the first number of "Little Dorrit" came out 
at Christmas, 1855. Between those dates a great war 
had waxed and waned. The heart of England had 
been terribly moved by the story of the sufferings and 
privations which the army had had to undergo amid 
the snows of a Russian winter. From the trenches 
before Sebastopol the newspaper correspondents had 
sent terrible accounts of death and disease, and of ills 
which, as there seemed room for suspicion, might have 
been prevented by better management. Through long 
disuse the army had rusted in its scabbard, and every- 
thing seemed to go wrong but the courage of officers 
and men. A great demand arose for reform in the 
whole administration of the country. A movement, 
now much forgotten, though not fruitless at the time, 
was started for the purpose of making the civil service 
more efficient, and putting John BulFs house in order. 
"Administrative Reform," such was the cry of the mo- 
ment, and Dickens uttered it with the full strength of 
his lungs. He attended a great meeting held at Drury 
Lane Theater on the 27th of June, in furtherance of 
the cause, and made what he declared to be his first 
political speech. He spoke on the subject again at the 
dinner of the Theatrical Fund. He urged on his 

211 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

friends in the press to the attack. He was in the fore- 
front of the battle. And when his next novel, "Little 
Dorrit," appeared, there was the Civil Service, like a 
sort of gibbeted Punch, executing the strangest antics. 
But the ''Circumlocution Office," where the clerks sit 
lazily devising all day long "how not to do" the business 
of the country, and devote their energies alternately to 
marmalade and general insolence, — the "Circumlocu- 
tion Office" occupies after all only a secondary position 
in the book. The main interest of it circles round the 
place that had at one time been almost a home to Dick- 
ens. Again he drew upon his earlier experiences. We 
are once more introduced into a debtors' prison. 

SYNOPSIS OF "LITTLE DORRIT"* 

The story of ''Little Dorrit" was directed against the 
English debtors' prisons, and the red-tape system and delay 
of governmental offices. 

Arthur Clennam, who has been traveling in India, re- 
turns to his home in London, which is presided over by a 
stern, puritanical, paral5rtic woman whom he believes to be 
his mother. Since his father's death she has managed a 
declining commission business, with the assistance of a bully 
ing servant, Flintwich ; but she and Arthur are not in sym- 
pathy, and he decides to withdraw from the firm. 

At his home he notices a young woman seamstress who 
is known as Little Dorrit. She interests him and he in- 
quires into her history. Her father, William Dorrit, has been 
confined for debt in the Marshalsea Prison for so many years 
that he is known as the 'Tather of the Marshalsea." His 
daughter, Amy, or "Little Dorrit," as she is called because of 
her diminutive size, was born there and spent her early years 

*Froni "Synopses of Dickens's Novels," by J. Walker Mc- 
Spadden. Thomas Y. Crowell and Company. 

^- — -- 212 



"HARD TIMES" AND "LITTLE DORRIT" 

in the shadow of the jail. Her mother died when Amy was 
eight. There were two other Dorrit children now grown, 
Fanny and Edward, — one pretty and frivolous, the other a 
ne'er-do-well. Upon Little Dorrit, therefore, devolves the 
care of her father and the oversight of her brother and sister 
— a heavy duty for the stanch, loving girl. In the daytime 
she hires out as a seamstress, and this explains her presence 
in the Clennam household. All this Arthur Clennam learns, 
and he resolves to aid her if possible. 

He inquires into the original Dorrit case in the national 
''Circumlocution Office,'' presided over by the Barnacle family, 
but the science of "How not to do it" is so thorough as to 
balk all his efforts. However, he makes the acquaintance 
of Daniel Doyce, an inventor who has been seeking govern- 
ment recognition with as little success. The two men decide 
to go into partnership, Doyce furnishing a plant and manu- 
facturing experience, Clennam giving capital and time. 

Their mutual friend, Meagles, a "practical man," has an 
only daughter, Minnie, who is the object of Clennam's re- 
gard, but favors a young artist of the aristocratic set, Henry 
Gowan by name. Gowan marries her and takes her to the 
Continent, w^here he is assisted in his artistic career by the 
purse of Meagles. Minnie's life thereafter is not particularly 
happy. 

Clennam stifles his disappointment by working closely in 
his new office and also by renewing his efforts to assist the 
Dorrits. He is offered consolation by a buxom and voluble 
widow, Flora Finching, who has been a former flame of his; 
but his heart now withstands her wiles. 

Little Dorrit, meanwhile, has instinctively turned to him, 
gratefully, for friendship, ever since he first proved his in- 
terest by releasing her brother from a sm^all debt. His greater 
efforts on behalf of her father likewise prove successful at last. 
Dorrit is found to have inherited an estate and he leaves 
the prison — after a quarter of a century — a free and wealthy 
man. 

The second book is concerned with the Dorrits in af- 
fluence, traveling through Switzerland and Italy and much 

213 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

encumbered by servants with whom Mr. Dorrit is exceed- 
ingly pompous. Fanny and Edward are likewise greatly given 
to pride on account of their new position The two, in fact, 
are so conscious of their importance that they henceforth 
ignore Arthur Clennam. Little Dorrit alone is unspoiled 
through it all, and her heart goes out to her friend in child- 
like, undisguised affection. 

Fanny Dorrit makes "a good match" by marrying Spark- 
ler, a young man belonging to the same set with Henry 
Gowan, and connected with the officials of the "Circumlocu- 
tion Office." Dorrit is glad to cultivate one of the shining 
lights of his coterie, Merdle, a banker and promoter of specu- 
lations. Mrs. General, a very proper chaperone engaged by 
Dorrit for his daughters, almost becomes their stepmother; 
but her designs are thwarted by the sudden decline and death 
of Dorrit. After his demise it is found that he has intrusted 
all his funds with Merdle. The latter commits suicide. It is 
then discovered that he is a swindler, and that hundreds of 
investors have suffered b}'- his frauds. Dorrifs wealth thus 
vanishes. Another sufferer is Arthur Clennam, who likewise 
loses all his capital, and, not seeking escape from his cred- 
itors, is imprisoned by them in the same Marshalsea quarters 
where he had formerly visited the Dorrits. Here Little Dorrit 
finds him upon her return to England, and ministers to him 
just as she had ministered to her father. She nurses him 
through an illness, and the heart's secret of each is revealed I 
to the other. 

Clennam's business friends, Doyce, Meagles, and others, 
come to his rescue. He is released from prison and weds Lit- 
tle Dorrit. 

Meanwhile his supposed mother, Mrs. Clennam the par- 
alytic, is forced to confess a secret regarding his birth. An 
adventurer, Rigaud, alias Blandois, endea-vors to blackmail her, 
but is prevented by the collapse of her old house which buries 
him in its ruins. Mrs. Clennam, however, has confided her 
story to Little Dorrit, who had also been concerned in the 
past with the wrong and its concealment. Mrs. Clennam soon : 
after passes away, and thus removes the shadow from Ar- 
thur's life. 

214 



"HARD TIMES" AND "LITTLE DORRIT" 

Other characters concerned with the story are Pancks, 
the puffing rent collector, who traces up the Dorrit estate, and 
proves a good fortune-teller to Little Dorrit; Casby, the 
patriarchal leech, for whom Pancks sucks the tenants' blood; 
young John Chivery, a devoted admirer of Little Dorrit, who 
finds relief from blighted affection by writing epitaphs ; Maggy, 
the simpleton woman, who calls Little Dorrit *'little mother;" 
the explosive "Mr. F/s Aunt;" Cavalletto, a jail companion 
of Rigaud, who later assists Clennam to track the adventurer ; 
Plornish, a plasterer and his family; Harriet Beadle, known 
as "Tattycoram," a com.panion for Minnie Meagles ; Miss 
Wade, a lady with a temper; Mrs. Gowan, Henry's mother; 
and the tribe of Barnacles w^hich thrive upon the "Circumlo- 
cution Office." 



215 



XII 
AT GAD'S HILL, 1856-1870 

^Meanwhile, on the 14th of March, 1856, a 
Friday, his lucky day as he considered it, he had writ- 
ten a cheque for the purchase of Gad's Hill Place, at 
which he had so often looked when a little lad, living 
penuriously at Chatham — the house which it had been 
the object of his childish ambition to win for his own. 

So had merit proved to be not without its visible 
prize, literally a prize for good conduct. He took pos- 
session of the house in the following February, and 
turned workmen into it, and finished '^Little Dorrit'' 
there. * * * 

For some time before 1858 Dickens had been in an 
over-excited, nervous, morbid state. During earlier 
manhood his animal spirits and fresh energy had been 
superb. Now, as the years advanced, and especially 
at this particular time, the energy was the same; but 
it was accompanied by something of feverishness and 
disease. He could not be quiet. In the autumn of 1857 
he wrote to Forster, "I have now no relief but in action. 
I am become incapable of rest. I am quite confident 
I should rust, break, and die if I spared myself. Much 
better to die doing." And again, a httle later, 'If I 
couldn't walk fast and far, I should just explode and 

*From the "Life of Charles Dickens," by Frank T. Mar- 
zials, in Great Writers Series. Walter Scott. $1.00 and 40c. 

216 



AT GAD^S HILL, 1856-1870 

perish." It was the foreshadowing of such utterances 
as these, and the constant wanderings to and fro for 
readings and theatricals and what not, that led Harriet 
Martineau, who had known and greatly liked Dickems, 
to say after perusing the second volume of his Hfe, 
''I am much struck by his hysterical restlessness. It 
must have been terribly wearing to his wife.'' On the 
other hand, there can be no manner of doubt that his 
wife wore him, ''Why is it," he had said to Forster in 
one of the letters from which I have just quoted, "that 
as with poor David (Copperfield), a sense comes always 
crushing on me now, when I fall into low spirits, as of 
one happiness I have missed in life, and one friend and 
companion I have never made?" And again: *'I find 
that the skeleton in my domestic closet is becoming 
a pretty big one." Then come even sadder confidences : 
'Toor Catherine and I are not made for each other, 
and there is no help for it. It is not only that she 
m.akes me uneasy and unhappy, but that I make her so 
too, and much more so. She is exactly what you know 
in the way of being amiable and complying; but we are 
strangely ill-assorted for the bond there is between 
us. . . . Her temperament will not go with 
mine." And at last, in March, 1858, two months be- 
fore the end : "It is not with me a matter of will, or 
trial, or sufferance, or good humor, or making the best 
of it, or making the worst of it, any longer. It is all de- 
spairingly over." So, after living together for twenty 
years, these two went their several ways in May, 1858. 



217 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 
"A TALE OF TWO CITIES"* 

In "A Tale of Two Cities'' we have that rare crea- 
tion, a piece of writing of very high quality not in the 
author's characteristic manner. In some important re- 
spects it is Dickens's best story ; it is certainly his most 
interesting, because his most vivid^ dramatic, and thor- 
oughly constructed story; but it is as unlike "David 
Copperfield" and ''Nicholas Nickleby" as if it had 
come from another hand. It is a cardinal doctrine of 
modern art that a man can do only one thing well, and 
"A Tale of Two Cities" has been accepted as an ef- 
fective and impressive modem novel, but as lacking 
the distinctive Dickens stamp: the introduction of a 
large group of subordinate characters ; the dispropor- 
tionate emphasis on the queer, the odd, the grotesque; 
the slow, diffuse movement of the narrative, the re- 
lief of humorous episodes. 

As a matter of fact this remarkable story is much 
more definitely marked by the commonly accepted 
Dickens characteristics than appears at first glance; 
and its dissimilarity to the other stories is due largely 
to two facts: it is, far more than any of the other 
novels, a semi-historical romance, keeping very close 
in many respects to the habits, manners, and conditions 
of a definite and dramatic movem^ent in history; and 
the story is worked out in a foreign city. The action 
begins in an old-fashioned English stage-coach, and 
London is the background of much of its earlier de- 

♦Introduction to "A Tale of Two Cities/* by Hamilton 
Wright Mabie. From Book Lovers Edition of Dickens. Uni- 
versity Society. 

2X8 



AT GAD'S HILL, 1856-1870 

velopment; but it is worked out in the Paris which 
pulled down the Bastile almost with bare hands, the 
energy of a long-suppressed fury taking the place of 
instruments and weapons. In "Martin Chuzzlewit'' 
Dickens was on American soil for a good part of the 
story; but his English characters were reenforced by 
American types as full of humorous exaggeration as 
his most extreme English types. In the France of 
1793 humor had turned to acid irony or ferocious de- 
nunciation, and Madame Defarge and the terrible mul- 
tiple of Jacques took the places of the cheery, irre- 
pressible, or grotesque minor figures which fill the 
background of the English stories. In ''A Tale of Two 
Cities'' Dickens was not only on foreign soil, among 
a people whose humorous types were unknown to him 
and probably would not have appealed to him, but he 
embarked in one of those swift and tumultuous move- 
ments which bear men and women on to their several 
fates in such an atmosphere of deepening tragedy that 
the mind no longer seeks the relaxation of humor but 
shudderingly looks to the end. 

Even in this wild rage of elemental forces Dick- 
ens does not leave us without witnesses to the pres- 
ence of his imagination, prolific of strongly contrasted 
characters, and finding its most efifective opportunity 
for dramatic eflfect in the swift succession of light and 
shadow on the landscape. Mr. Lorry hides a world 
of sentiment and feeling behind his insistence on the 
business aspect of afifairs, and is a quaint and char- 
acteristic figure even when he guards the Tellson in- 
terests in Paris with an integrity as courageous as it 
is simple and unselfish. As for Jerry Cruncher, the 

219 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

**Aggera water/' and Master Cruncher, it is quite cer- 
tain that in all the Dickens brood of eccentricities, 
oddities, curiosities of human nature, none arc more 
original or, to the skeptically-minded, more incredi- 
ble. Even after Jerry has left his occupation as "a 
honest tradesman" behind and has been involved in 
the tragedy in Paris, the air of Cheapside still hangs 
around him. Miss Pross is a near relation of Betsey 
Trotwood, and Mr. Stryver is one of those portraits 
which Dickens painted with a vivid energy. 

''A Tale of Two Cities" bears the stamp of the 
genius of Dickens in structure, humor, sentiment, and 
denouement; why then does it stand apart from Dick- 
ens's other work and present so many obvious points 
of contrast with it? This question is partly 
answered by recalling the conditions under which 
it was written. It was the product of a period 
of crisis in Dickens's life. He had separated from 
his wife and abandoned Household Words, which 
he had carried to a great success. He had gone 
back to his old publishers, Messrs. Chapman and Hall, 
whose imprint on the title-pages of his novels seems 
almost as much a part of them as the name of the 
author. He had established All the Year Round, which 
was to gain an even wider popularity than its prede- 
cessor; and it was in the new periodical that "A Tale 
of Two Cities'' appeared in serial form. The plot was 
suggested to the novcHst in 1857, while, as he tells us, 
he and his children were acting in a play by Wilkie 
Collins, 'The Frozen Deep." A year later it was 
haunting his imagination, and he reports that as the 
idea became familiar to him it gradually shaped itself 

220 



AT GAD'S HILL, 1856-1870 

into its present form. "Throughout its execution," 
he writes in his preface to the story, ^ * ^ 
''it has had complete possession of me; I 
have so far verified what is done and suffered in 
these pages, as that I have certainly done and suffered 
it all myself/' And he adds a further fact that goes 
far to explain both the choice of the subject and the 
intensity and concentration of his treatment : ''When- 
ever any reference (however slight) is made here to 
the condition of the French people before or during the 
Revolution, it is truly made on the faith of the most 
trustworthy witnesses. It has been one of my hopes to 
add something to the popular and picturesque means 
of understanding that terrible time, though no one can 
hope to add anything to the philosophy of Mr. Car- 
lyle's wonderful book.'' 

Dickens did not depend upon one work for his 
knowledge of that tremendous outbreak of the human 
spirit; on the contrary, he was familiar with the wide 
Uterature on the subject, and he knew the details of 
the conditions which he described in a white heat of 
feeling ; but he read the tragedy in the light of Carlyle's 
striking and absorbing interpretation ; history told in 
flashes of lightning, as Lowell says in his ve!^'' in- 
adequate essay on Carlyle. What the author of "The 
French Revolution" had done in a series of marvel- 
ously effective tableaux and vividly described incidents 
illustrating the working of an ethical law, Dickens did 
in dramatic form and in terms of intimate human feel- 
ing. He saw the Revolution, as Carlyle saw it, as the 
terrible reaping of a long sowing of grinding oppres- 
sion, brutal indifference to human relations, and wan- 

221 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

ton waste ; he seized the dramatic moment when Saint 
Antoine awoke to the terrible consciousness of its 
power; behind it he set a particular instance of un- 
speakable tyranny as an explanation of an unspeakable 
vengeance; in a single figure he saw and makes his 
readers see the horror of abuse which grew up under 
the old order, and the madness of men made beasts 
by a long-continued inhumanity. 

The story of Dr. Manette, Lucie, and Sydney Car- 
ton is told against a background of such terrible and 
sinister aspect that in hands less strong the personal 
note would have been lost in the tumult, and the per- 
sonal fortune swallowed up in a movement of such 
elemental force that victims and lovers would have 
been dwarfed into insignificance by it. With a restraint 
often missing in the other novels, Dickens kept the 
Revolution and the drama of individual love, suffer- 
ing, and sacrifice in a relation so balanced that the 
great tide never overwhelms the little craft it bears 
forward, and the fury of the elements does not with- 
draw attention from the little group who are trying 
to make port in the storm. 

In Dickens's personal history and in the reawakened 
power of his imagination under the influence of a 
work of flaming energy of feeling and style ''A Tale 
of Two Cities" was born. It was the product of a 
period of deep and moving experience; and when the 
story is set side by side with "Little Dorrit," which 
immediately preceded it, it becomes apparent that a 
great awakening of the genius of the novelist had 
taken place. Dickens was not only a man of original 
getiius, but he was a man of sensitive imagination, 

222 



AT GAD'S HILL, 1856-1870 

quick to feel and as quick to respond to the hints of 
character and the sudden gHmpses into the secrets of 
temperament which came to him from^ all sides; and 
a large part of his work is made up of these deposits 
of observation and feeling. A man is great not onty by 
virtue of the force within him, but by virtue of his 
ability to sweep into the sphere of his own conscious- 
ness the experiences of a host of other men. It does 
not, therefore, diminish the originality of "A Tale of 
Two Cities'' to find its inspiration in a graphic render- 
ing of a dramatic crisis in history. Carlyle's book led 
Dickens straight into the heart of a great episode in 
the affairs of men; and from that vantage ground he 
saw with his own eyes and wrought after his own 
fashion. 

When Dickens declared that this novel was ''the 
best story I have written" he was not far from the 
truth ; for while "David Copperfield" is far more auto- 
biographic and, in a sense, more personal and char- 
acteristic of his humor and intimate knowledge of the 
English nature, ''A Tale of Two Cities" has more 
structural strength, more perfect fusion of the ele- 
ments which enter into it, more intensity of interest 
arising both from the characters and the onward sweep 
of the narrative, more vividness of description, more 
of that quality of visualizing a scene to the reader 
which is the triumph of literary skill, more of that 
vitalizing power which transforms a creature of the 
imagination into a living person than any other of his 
novels. Sydney Carton, capable of a great passion ris- 
ing to a great sacrifice, but incapable of sustained ef- 
fort in the direction of his life, stands out among those 

223 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

who have compressed into a few noble hours the wasted 
energies of ill-spent years; Dr. Manette is a victim 
whose slumbering vitality returns to make him a 
heavenly avenger of wrongs that in the end bear the 
fruit of pity and service; and Madame Defarge will 
remain the type of a powerful nature poisoned by in- 
justice and become the incarnation of inexorable and 
tireless hate. In the record made by her needles the 
destructive fury of the Revolution finds its incarnation 
of vengeance. 

SYNOPSIS OF "A TALE OF TWO CITIES"* 

The "Two Cities" are London and Paris. This Tale is 
divided into three books, the action of the first beginning in 

1775. 

Jarvis Lorry, an English gentleman and confidential agent 
of the banking-house of Tellson and Company, goes to Paris 
at the request of his firm to seek out a French physician, Dr. 
Alexandre Manette, who had been secretly imprisoned in the 
Bastile, during eighteen years, for political reasons. Lorry is 
accompanied by Lucie Manette, daughter of the physician, 
who had believed her father dead. 

At Paris they discover the old Doctor living in a solitary, 
demented state, making shoes. They persuade him to accom- 
pany them to London, where his mental condition slowly im- 
proves, though subject to occasional lapses. 

The second book takes up the narrative five years later— 
in 1780. 

Charles Darnay, a French gentleman earning a quiet live- 
lihood in London as a tutor, is tried before the Court of Old 
Bailey for treason, being charged with supplying the French 
throne with information detrimental to England. Doctor 
Manette and his daughter are present, the latter reluctantly 

♦From "Synopses of Dickens's Novels," by /. Walker Mc- 
Spadden. Thomas Y. Crowell and Company. 



AT GAD'S HILL, 1856-1870 

testifying to facts which threaten Darnay with conviction. 
But he is saved by a question of identities arising, when it is 
found that a bystander, Sydney Carton, resembles him greatly. 
This fact disturbs the prosecutor's chain of evidence, and 
Darnay is acquitted. 

Both Carton and Darnay become frequent callers at the 
Manette home, as suitors for Lucie's hand. Carton, who has 
led a reckless, dissipated life, has no assured means of sup- 
port and so does not press his suit. He reveals his heart to 
Lucie, however, and begs her to remember that he would 
make any sacrifice — even life itself — to render her happy. 

Darnay is the accepted suitor, and marries Lucie with the 
approval of her father, their good friend Lorry, and the de- 
voted nurse. Miss Pross. 

Meantime public afifairs in France have become more and 
more turbulent. The common people, borne down by the cruel 
wrongs of centuries, are beginning to rise and plan riot and 
murder. Charles Darnay's uncle, the Marquis de St. Evre- 
monde, is murdered in his bed; and the mob later sets fire 
to his chateau, and threatens the life of Gabelle, his col- 
lector of rents and taxes. Darnay, though his uncle's heir, 
has preferred to remain in England rather than live off a 
people whom he feels to be oppressed. To him Gabelle writes 
a letter praying protection. Although the waves of revolution 
are rising, Darnay cannot resist this appeal from his servant, 
but goes to France to his relief, without telling even his wife. 

The third book finds Darnay in the toils of the French 
Revolution of 1792. Being an "aristocrat" he is seized and 
imprisoned. His wife and her father hasten to Paris to suc- 
cor him. Lorry is also there at this time. Old Doctor 
Manette finds favor with the mob by reason of the fact that 
he was a former Bastile prisoner. 

Darnay is brought before the improvised Tribunal and 
through the popularity and pleading of the Doctor is released. 
But the same day he is re-arrested on another charge, through 
the implacable animosity of the wife of Defarge the wine- 
seller. 

This time the Tribunal sentences the prisoner to death 

22s 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

by the guillotine within twenty-four hours. His case is well- 
nigh hopeless, when Sydney Carton arrives on the scene and 
obtains entrance, into the prison by threatening to testify 
against a turnkey whom he recognizes as a spy. He drugs 
Darnay, exchanges clothes with him, and effects the prisoner's 
escape by himself remaining in his stead. The resemblance 
between the two men had been previously of service, and is 
now strong enough to prevent detection. 

Darnay, Lucie, the Doctor, and their constant friend 
Lorry make their way to England in safety; while Carton 
goes to the guillotine for the husband of the women he loves. 
He mounts the scaffold in the calmness of genuine triumph — 
triumph in the prophetic knowledge that all this woe and car- 
nage must give place to a grander nation and true liberty; 
triumph that his own hitherto useless life has gone out in 
splendid service whose memory will never die among the 
loved ones he has preserved to peace and happiness. His 
thoughts are tinged only by the glow of self-sacrifice. 

"It is a far, far better thing that I do than I have ever 
done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever 
known." 



"GREAT EXPECTATIONS"* 

The story of Pip's adventures, the novel of "Great 
Expectations/' was thought over in the Kenti:<h per- 
ambulations between Thames and Medway along the 
road which runs, apparently with the intention of run- 
ning out to sea, from Higham towards the marshes; 
in the lonely churchyard of Cooling Village by the 
thirteen little stone-lozenges of which Pip counted 
only five, now nearly buried in their turn by the rank 
grass ; and in quiet saunters through the familiar streets 

♦From "Charles Dickens," by Adolphus William Ward. 
English Men of Letters Series. Harper and Brothers. 

226 



AT GAD^S HILL, 1856-1870 

of Rochester, past the "queer'' Townhall ; and through 
the ''Vines" past the fine old Restoration House, called 
in the book (by the name of an altogether different 
edifice) Satis House. And the climax of the narra- 
tive was elaborated on a unique steamboat excursion 
from London to the mouth of the Thames, broken by 
a night at the ''Ship and Lobster,'' an old riverside inn 
called "The Ship" in the story. No wonder that Dick- 
ens's descriptive genius should become refreshed by 
these studies of his subject, and that thus "Great Ex- 
pectations" should have indisputably become one of the 
most picturesque of his books. But it is something very 
much more at the same time. The "Tale of Two 
Cities" had as a story strongly seized upon the atten- 
tion of the reader. But in the earlier chapters of 
"Great Expectations" every one felt that Dickens was 
himself again. Since the Yarmouth scenes in "David 
Copperfield" he had written nothing in which descrip- 
tion married itself to sentiment so humorously and 
so tenderly. * "^^ * Nor since "David Copperfield" 
had Dickens again shown such an insight as he showed 
here into the world of a child's mind. "To be quite 
sure," he wrote to Forster, "I had fallen into no un- 
conscious repetitions, I read 'David Copperfield' again 
the other day, and was affected by it to a degree you 
would hardly believe." His fears were unnecessary; 
for with all its charm the history of Pip lacks the per- 
sonal element which insures our sympathy to the earlier 
story and to its hero. In delicacy of feeling, however, 
as well as in humor of description, nothing in Dickens 
surpasses the earlier chapters of "Great Expectations ;" 
and equally excellent is the narrative of Pip's disloyalty 

227 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

of heart toward his early friends. * * * The later 
and especially the concluding portions of this novel 
contain much that is equal in power to its opening ; but 
it must be allowed that, before many chapters have 
ended, a false tone finds its way into the story. The 
whole history of Miss Havisham, and the crew of re- 
lations round the unfortunate creature, is strained 
and unnatural. * '{^ * The remainder of the narra- 
tive is successful in conveying to the reader the sense 
of sickening anxiety which fills the hero; the interest 
is skilfully sustained by the introduction of a very 
strong situation — * * * and the climax is reached 
in the admirably-executed narrative of the convict's at- 
tempt, with the aid of Pip, to escape by the river. The 
actual winding-up of ''Great Expectations" is not alto- 
gether satisfactory; but on the whole the book must 
be ranked among the very best of Dickens's later 
novels, as combining, with the closer construction and 
intenser narrative force common to several of these, 
not a little of the delightfully genial humor of his 
earlier works. 

SYNOPSIS OF "GREAT EXPECTATIONS'^* 

"Great Expectations'' is a sermon against snobbishness 
and ingratitude ; it is the story of a poor boy lifted out of his 
first station, and of the effect this change produces in his 
character and career. 

The narrative is told in the first person by the boy himself, 
Philip Pirrip, whose name soon becomes shortened to Pip. 
He is left an orphan at a very early age, and is "brought up 

*From "Synopses of Dickens's Novels," by J. Walker Mc- 
Spadden. Thomas Y. Crowell and Company. 

228 



AT GAD'S HILL, 1856-1870 

by hand'' by the only other remaining member of his family, 
his sister, who is married to Joe Garger^^ a worthy black- 
smith of Cooling Village, Kent, "five hours out from Lon- 
don" and in a marsh country twenty miles from the sea. Mrs. 
Gargery is a vixenish woman, who visits her temper upon the 
boy; and it would go still harder with him but for the quiet 
kmdness and comrader}^ of her husband. 

One evening while out near the marshes Pip is approached 
by a skulking stranger who proves to be an escaped convict. 
The boy is frightened into filching some food from his sister's 
pantry for this convict, v/ho is recaptured with a fellow- 
prisoner next day, and returned to the Hulks. 

Pip's education begins in a primitive way at a small even- 
ing school, where he meets a village girl near his own age, 
known as Biddy. Soon afterward, Mrs. Joe's "Uncle Pumble- 
chook" takes Pip to the neighboring market town, where lives 
an eccentric spinster lady, Miss Havisham. This lady had been 
disappointed in a love-afTair many years before, on the very 
eve of her wedding, and had lived ever since as if in prepara- 
tion for it. Her only companion is a proud, beautiful girl 
about Pip's age, called Estella. Pip is introduced to these two, 
and visits the lonely mansion at regular intervals, in answer 
to a whim of the spinster. This glimpse of higher society 
makes the lad secretly discontented with his own boorishness 
and ignorance, and he resolves to rise. 

However, he soon becomes apprenticed to Joe in the forge, 
and ceases his visits to town. He makes a secret enemy of 
Orlick, another apprentice. The chief incident during the 
apprenticeship is a mysterious attack upon Mrs. Gargery. 
She is knocked senseless by a blow on the head, which, while 
not fatal, leaves her senses benumbed. Biddy is called in to 
nurse her. 

After Pip has served four years, Jaggers, a London law- 
yer, brings him news that a bequest has been granted him 
from a secret source, and that he has Great Expectations. 
Joe willingly releases him for the unexpired term, and Pip goes 
to London, invests in a wardrobe, secures apartments, and 
begins his life of a gentleman of means. Jaggers secures him 
a tutor in the person of Matthew Pocket, a kinsman of Miss 

229 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

Havisham, living near London. Pip's city lodgings are shared 
with Mr. Pocket's son Herbert, who speedily becomes Pip's 
steadfast friend. Pip becomes possessed with the idea 
that Miss Havisham is his secret benefactor, 
and that she has destined Estella for him. Meanwhile he 
finishes his education, without studying for any profession, 
and devotes his energies to living expensively and foolishly. 
Although he goes down to the Havisham home to see Estella, 
he does not stop with Joe at the forge ; nor does he visit with 
Joe and Biddy but once, w^hen he is called there by the death 
of his sister. 

Pip now comes of age, and finds he has an income of five 
hundred pounds a year. Plis secret friend is not revealed to 
him, however. He invests one hundred a year in a partnership 
business for Herbert, and this deed is the first worthy one 
which has yet come of his expectations. 

After two more years of a life aimless but for his fruit- 
less wooing of Estella, a crisis comes in Pip's affairs. He 
learns that Miss Havisham is not his benefactor, but that it 
is none other than the convict he had aided years before. This 
convict, Abel Magwitch, had been sent abroad for life, but 
escapes, and now returns to London to see Pip, whom he 
wishes to make a gentleman. Pip hears his story with hor- 
ror ; but all other emotions are smothered in planning to shel- 
ter the wanderer, who, if captured, would be put to death 
by law. He hides the man in a house near the river, and 
confides his dilemma to Herbert and Wemmick, the crusty but 
friendly clerk at Jaggers's oflfice. 

To add to the convict's peril he has a long-time enemy 
in a former convict, Compeyson, who was the suitor of Miss 
Havisham. Compeyson learns that Magwitch has returned, 
and spies upon him, although his friends use every safeguard. 
Orlick is an accomplice of Compeyson and nearly suc- 
ceeds in murdering Pip through a decoy letter. Orlick 
is also revealed as the assailant of Pip's sister. Pip 
plans to smuggle Magwitch on board a steamer going abroad, 
and to go with him to see him safely out of England. He has, 
however, refrained from touching any of the convict's money 
since learning the facts of the case. 

230 



AT GAD'S HILL, 1856-1870 

Wemmick gives the signal for Magwitch's escape, which 
Pip and Herbert set about effecting. They row the convict 
down the river, but at the moment when they have hailed 
their steamer, Compeyson appears with officers. Magwitch 
and his enemy grapple, the boat is overturned, and Compeyson 
is drowned. Magwitch also receives mortal injuries; and 
though soon after tried and sentenced to death, he anticipates 
his sentence. 

The strain upon Pip, his worry and his debts, cause a phys- 
ical breakdown. He is nursed through a severe illness by the 
faithful Joe, who settles with his creditors. He recovers to 
a sense of his past folly and ingratitude, and goes back to the 
village, half resolved to ask Biddy to marry him and begin 
life anew with her, but finds on his arrival that she is the 
wife of Joe. 

Meanwhile Miss Havisham dies, and Estella (discovered 
by Pip to be Magwitch's daughter) is married to a rival of 
Pip. Herbert's business takes him to Cairo, where Pip, having 
no other prospects or friends, joins him as clerk, and eventu- 
ally works up to a partnership. After eleven years' absence 
Pip returns to England, discovers Estella is a widow, and 
finally wins his suit with her. 

The leading characters have already been mentioned. 
Pumblechook is a type of hypocrite and pretender which Dick- 
ens delighted to draw. Wopsle, the village tragedian, should 
not be forgotten. Biddy is a figure of quiet womanliness. 
Jaggers and Wemmick cultivate the absence of feelings. And 
Joe Gargery's simple manliness stamps him the strongest figure 
in the book. 

THE DEATH OF THACKERAY 

Thackeray died on Christmas Eve, 1863. 
*Here is Dickens's pathetic tribute to his great 
friend, written for the Cornhill: 

It has been desired by some of the personal friends of 

* From "The Life of Charles Dickens as Revealed in his 
Writings," by Percy Fitzgerald. Chatto and Windus. 

231 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

the great English writer who established this magazine that 
its brief record of his having been stricken from among men 
should be written by the old comrade and brother in arms 
who pens these lines, and of whom he often wrote himself, 
and always with the warmest generosity. 

I saw him first, nearly twenty-eight years ago, when he 
proposed to become the illustrator of my earliest book, I 
saw him last, shortly before Christmas, at the Athenaeum 
Club, when he told me that he had been in bed three days — 
that, after these attacks, he was troubled with cold shiver- 
ings, "which quite took the power remedy of work out of 
him" — and that he had it in his mind to trv which he laugh- 
ingly described. He was very cheerful, and looked very 
bright. In the night of that day week he died. 

We had our differences of opinion. I thought that he 
too much feigned a want of earnestness, and that he made 
a pretense of undervaluing his art, which was not good for 
the art that he held in trust. But, when we fell upon these 
topics, it was never very gravely, and I have a lively image 
of him in my mind, twisting both his hands in his hair, and 
stamping about, laughing to make an end of the discussion. 

When we were associated in remembrance of the late Mr. 
Douglas Jerrold, he delivered a public lecture in London, in 
the course of which he read his very best contribution to 
Punch, describing the grown-up cares of a poor family of 
young children. No one hearing him could have doubted his 
natural gentleness, or his thoroughly unaffected manly sym- 
pathy with the weak and lowly. He read the paper most 
patheticall3% and with a simplicity of tenderness that cer- 
tainly moved one of his audience to tears. This was pres- 
ently after his standing for Oxford, from which place he 
had dispatched his agent to me with a droll note (to which he 
afterwards added a verbal postscript), urging me to *'come 
down and make a speech, and tell them who he was, for he 
doubted whether more than two of the electors had ever 
heard of him, and he thought there might be as many as six 
or eight who had heard of me." He introduced the lecture 
just mentioned, with a reference to his late electioneering fail- 

232 



AT GAD'S HILL, 1856-1870 

lire, which was full of good sense, good spirits, and good 
humor. 

He had a particular delight in boys, and an excellent way 
with them. I remember his once asking me with fantastic 
gravity, when he had been to Eton where my eldest son 
then was, whether I felt as he did in regard of never seeing 
a boy without wanting instantly to give him a sovereign? I 
thought of this when I looked down into his grave after he 
was laid there, for I looked down into it over the shoulder 
of a boy to whom he had been kind. 

These are slight remembrances; but it is to little familiar 
things suggestive of the voice, look, manner, never, never more 
to be encountered on this earth, that the mind first turns in a 
bereavement. And greater things that are known of him in 
the way of his warm affections, his quiet endurance, his 
unselfish thoughtfulness for others, and his munificent hand, 
may not be told. 

But, on the table before me, there lies all that he had writ- 
ten of his latest and last story. That it would be very sad to 
anyone — that it is inexpressibly so to a writer — in its evidence 
of matured designs never to be accomplished, of intentions 
begun to be executed and destined never to be completed, of 
careful preparation for long roads of thought that he was 
never to traverse, and for shininof goals that he was never to 
reach, will be readily believed. 

The last line he v/rote, and the last proof he corrected, 
are among these papers through which I have so sorrowfully 
made my way. The condition of the little pages of manu- 
script where Death stopped his hand shows that he had car- 
ried them about, and often taken them out of his pocket 
here and there, for patient revision and interlineation. The 
last words he corrected in print were, "And my heart throbbed 
with an exquisite bliss." God grant that on that Christmas 
Eve when he laid his head back on his pillow and threw up 
his arms as he had been wont to do when very weary, some 
consciousness of duty done and Christian hope throughout 
life humbly cherished may have caused his own heart so to 
throb when he passed away to his Redeem.er's rest ! 

He was found peacefully lying as above described, com- 

233 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

posed, undisturbed, and to all appearance asleep, on the twenty- 
fourth of December, 1863. He was only in his fifty-third year ; 
so young a man that the mother who blessed him in his first 
sleep blessed him in his last. On the bright wintry da3% the 
last but one of the old year, he was laid in his grave at Ken- 
sal Green, there to mingle the dust to which the mortal part 
of him had returned, with that of a third child lost in her 
infancy, years ago. The heads of a great concourse of his 
fellow-workers in the Arts were bowed around his tomb. 

^^OUR MUTUAL FRIEND" 

* * * None of his books is so open to the 
charge of tedious superfluity* as ''Our Mutual Friend'' 
(1865); on many a page dialogue which is strictly 
no dialogue at all, but mere verbosity in a vein of 
forced humor, drags its slow length along in caricature 
of the author at his best. A plot, depending on all 
manner of fantastic circumstances, unfolds itself with 
dreary elaboration, and surely gratifies no one. Yet I 
have a sense of ingratitude in speaking thus of "Our 
Mutual Friend;'' for in it Dickens went far towards 
breaking with his worst theatrical traditions, and no- 
where, I think, irritates one with a violent improba- 
bility in the m.anagement of his occurrences. 

In June, 1865, Dickens was in a railway accident 
from which he emerged apparently unhurt, but really 
so shaken in nerves that he never entirely recovered. 

fA portion of the manuscript of ''Our Mutual 
Friend/' viz., the chapters he had written during his 

♦From "Charles Dickens: A Critical Study," by George 
Gissing. Dodd, Mead & Company. 

fFrom "The Novels of Charles Dickens." Frederic G. 
Kitton. Elliott Stock. 

234 



AT GAD'S HILL, 1856-1870 

brief stay in France, was in his possession at the time 
of the Staplehurst disaster, when author and ''copy'' 
so nearly perished. This fact is thus alluded to by 
Dickens in the 'Tost-script in lieu of Preface" (dated 
2nd of September, 1865), which accompanied the last 
[serial] number: 

"On Friday the ninth of June in the present year, 
Mr. and Mrs. Boffin (in their manuscript dress of re- 
ceiving Mr. and Mrs. Lammle at breakfast) were on 
the South-Eastern Railway with me in a terribly de- 
structive accident. When I had done what I could 
to help others, I climbed back intr) my carriage — 
nearly turned over a viaduct, and caught aslant upon 
the turn — to extricate the worthy couple. They were 
much soiled, but otherwise unhurt. The same happy 
result attended Miss Bella Wilfer on her wedding-day, 
and Mr. Riderhood inspecting Bradley Headstone's 
red neckerchief as he lay asleep. I remember with 
devout thankfulness that I can never be much nearer 
parting company with my readers for ever, than 1 was 
then, until there shall be written against my life the 
two words with which I have this day closed my book 

— THE END.'^ 

SYNOPSIS OF "OUR MUTUAL FRIEND'^* 

"Our Mutual Friend" is an involved, loosely constructed 
story of London life, introducing three themes. The leading 
plot is that of a man supposed to be dead, and legally dead for 
a period, so far as his interests and acquaintances are con- 
cerned. The second is the idle pursuit of a young woman by 

*From "Synopses of Dickens's Novels," by J. Walker Mc- 
Spadden. Thomas Y. Crowell and Company. 

235 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

a man of superior social station, and its result. Vvhile the 
third theme shows the mischief caused by two adventurers in 
society. 

An eccentric and wealthy old man named Harmon, after 
quarreling with his son, dies while the son is abroad and leaves 
him the bulk of his property upon condition that the young 
man will marry a girl of the fathers choosing. The remainder 
of the property is left to Mr. and Mrs. Boffin, the family 
servants. John Harmon, the son, takes passage home, and 
on landing in London falls into the hands of rascally long- 
shoremen who rob him. Another m.an, much like him in gen- 
eral appearance, is robbed at the same time, and both are ren- 
dered senseless and thrown into the river. Harmon m.anages 
to escape drowning. The other^s dead body is picked up and 
identified as Harmon's. The young man finds himself in the 
singular position of being dead in the eyes of the law, but 
resolves to profit by it. He has never seen his destined bride, 
and, fearing that she might accept him only because of his 
property, he decides to woo her as a stranger. He takes the 
name of Julius Hanford, and then that of John Rokesmith. 

The plot does not reveal the identity of the supposed 
Rokesmith clearly at the outset, although the reader soon rec- 
ognizes him. But during the greater part of the story he is 
known to his acquaintances by this name only, which will be 
followed here. 

Rokesmith takes lodgings in the home of Reginald Wilfer, 
a mxild man, clerk by profession, entirely at the mercy of a 
severe wife and two spoiled daughters. The elder of these, 
Bella, is the young woman specified in the Harmon will; and 
it is secretly on her account that Rokesm^ith becomes a lodger 
under her father's roof. He finds her beautiful, but heartless, 
proud, and wayward; yet is attracted to her despite these 
traits. 

He next seeks out Mr. and Mrs. Boffin, v/ho have not 
seen him for several years and do not recognize him, since 
they believe him dead. That worthy couple have com.e into 
possession of the entire estate on account of his supposed de- 
mise, and their simple natures are much perplexed as to the 
future. They move into a fine house and make strenuous 

236 



AT GAD'S HILL, 1856-1870 

efforts to live fashionably. By way of education, Boffin secures 
the services of a one-legged balladmonger, named Silas Wegg, 
to read to him. Rokesmith now seeks Boffin's employment 
as secretary and is engaged. 

Soon afterward the Boffins invite Bella Wilfer to live 
with them, the invitation being prompted by their feeling that 
she has lost a prospective fortune through young Harmon's 
death. She accepts the offer, and the secretary has further 
opportunity to press his suit. He proposes, but is scornfully 
rejected, she calmly stating that she intends to make a wealthy 
match. 

To consider the second theme of the book, it will be neces- 
sary to revert to the opening chapter. The supposed body of 
Harmon is picked up by Hexam, a boatman who makes a liv- 
ing out of this doubtful business. He has two children, Lizzie, 
a young woman of naturally refined tastes, and Charley, a boy 
who is being urged forward to the procuring of an education 
by his unselfish sister. When the "Harmon'* bodj'' is found, 
a young lawyer, Eugene Wrayburn, is brought thereby to 
the Hexam cottage and becom^es interested in Lizzie, in so far 
as his indolent disposition will let him get engrossed in any- 
thing. He has a further chance to gain her friendship, when 
her father is falsely accused by a former partner, Riderhood, 
of the murder of Harmon. Nothing comes of the accusation, 
for Hexam is accidentally drowned at this juncture; but the 
stigma is left for Lizzie to bear. Eugene now persuades the 
girl to allow him to provide a common-school teacher for her, 
and she takes private lessons. After her father's death she 
lives w^th a little crippled girl, of thirteen or fourteen, called 
Jenny Wren, who supports herself and her drunken father 
by making dresses for dolls. Lizzie's brother Charley is achiev- 
ing rapid progress at school, but his education tends to make 
him selfish and overbearing. He hears of Eugene's share m 
his sister's affairs and, justly enough, interferes, but without 
success. His schoolmaster, Bradley Headstone, takes the lad's 
part, but his interest becomes personal when he meets Lizzie. 
He conceives a violent passion for her, and becomes a bitter 
rival of Wrayburn, who, on his part, is merely drifting in the 
matter. The false accusation made by Riderhood comes tp 

237 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

Rokesmith's ears and he makes the accuser sign a retraction. 
Lizzie, meanwhile, is subjected to the attentions of Wrayburn 
and Headstone and the criticisms of her brother, until finally 
in despair she seeks the protection of Riah, a friendly Jew, 
who obtains secret employment for her at a mill outside of 
London. Wrayburn at once begins to trace the girl, while 
Headstone dogs his rival's every movement. 

The third theme in the book deals with the world of fash- 
ion. Mr. and Mrs. Veneering are newly rich people whose 
surroundings and friends are brand-new. Among these 
friends are Mr. and Mrs. Alfred Lammle, who have been 
mutually deceived in marrying each other for money, and 
now seek to keep up appearances by a species of social piracy. 
After being foiled in one of their schemes, they seek to get 
into the good graces of the Boffins by telling them that Roke- 
smith is a designing adventurer who has used his position to lay 
siege to Bella Wilfer. Boffin is outwardly indignant at this 
news and dismisses Rokesmith sumxmarily, in Bella's pres- 
ence. But her better nature has meanwhile prevailed. She 
has noted that Boffin himself has seemed to grow hard and 
grasping imder the influence of money, and she now re- 
nounces all idea of a mercenary marriage. She leaves the 
Boffin home on the same day that Rokesmith is discharged, 
and the secretary finds out that her heart is his after all. 
They become secretly wedded and start to housekeeping in 
a modest way. 

The Lammles do not greatly profit by their treachery. 
They have hoped to take the places of Rokesmith and Bella 
with the Boffins, but are quietly dismissed. They are sold 
out by creditors and leave England. 

Wrayburn at last learns Lizzie Hexam.'s country address 
and sets forth to see her, closely pursued by the indefatigable 
Headstone. Wrayburn meets the girl, who lets him see that 
she cares for him, but will continue to fly from his attentions. 
After the interview. Headstone assaults his rival and throws 
him in the water, whence he is rescued by Lizzie, who has been 
attracted by the sound of the struggle. She carries him to 
an inn, where he lingers for a long time between life and 



2.?8 



1 

i 



AT GAD'S HILL, 1856-1870 

death. Upon his sick-bed he marries Lizzie. He at last re- 
covers to begin life with new and worthy resolution. Head- 
stone is well-nigh demented when he learns that his interfer- 
ence has joined instead of parting the lovers. He is also 
preyed upon by the informer, Riderhood, until in desperation 
he commits suicide, dragging with him into the rushing canal 
lock this contemptible man. 

**Our Mutual Friend" — as Boffin has formerly styled 
Rokesmith — lives a retired happy life with Bella, who is quite 
contented with their modest income. But he has not yet sum- 
moned up courage to tell her his true name. Circumstances, 
however, bring it unexpectedly to light, and Bella finds that 
she actually has married the John Harmon of her dreams, 
so long supposed to be dead. She finds also that the good- 
hearted Boffins have for some time been a party to the secret 
and that they have treated the secretary harshly in order to 
awaken her sympathies. And she and John return to the 
Boffin home and complete the provisions of the will. 

Another underplot now comes to the surface. Silas Wegg, 
the one-legged versifier, has discovered another Harmon will, 
giving the bulk of the property to the Crown, Boffin makes 
a great show of terror at this, when Wegg threatens him with 
it and demands a large sum of hush money. But Boffin him- 
self has a still later document giving the entire property to 
himself and his wife, and although he will not disturb John 
and Bella in their possession, he uses the will to overthrow 
Wegg completely. The latter makes an undignified exit from 
the field. 

The several situations end at this point. Among the 
minor characters, mention must be made of : Jenny Wren, one 
of Dickens's most delightful girls who "knows their tricks 
and their manners ;" Sloppy, the good-natured boy ; Lightwood, 
the fellow-solicitor with Wrayburn ; Fledgeby, the mean backer 
of the Jew Riah ; Venus, the "preserver of animals and articu- 
lator of human bones ;" the Podsnaps, "old" friends of the new 
Vcncerings; Betty Higden, the woman who flees from the 
Poor Laws ; and the Irrepressible Lavvy Wilfer, who refuses 
to be awed by her majestic "Ma." 

239 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 
THE STORY LEFT UNFINISHED 

* * * "^Meantime (in a few months of rest to 
which he was constrained by medical advice) he had 
begun the writing of a new book, which was to appear 
in twelve monthly numbers, instead of the old heroic 
twenty; its name, ''The Mystery of Edwin Drood." 
Six numbers only were finished. * * * Beyond 
the sixth part, only a disjointed scene was written. He 
worked in his garden house at Gadshill, — the home 
endeared to him by Shakespearian association, — till 
the evening of the 8th of June, and an hour or two 
later was seized by fatal illness. The next day he died. 

"Edwin Drood" would probably have been his best 
constructed book: as far as it goes, the story hangs 
well together, showing a care in the contrivance of de- 
tail which is more than commonly justified by the re- 
sult. One cannot help wishing that Dickens had chosen 
another subject — one in which there was neither mys- 
tery nor murder, both so irresistibly attractive to him., 
yet so far from being the true material of his art. 
Surely it is unfortunate that the last work of a great 
writer should have for its theme nothing more human 
than a trivial mystery woven about a vulgar deed of 
blood. For this, it seems to me, his public readings 
may have been responsible, 

fLongfellow, on hearing of the death of the fa- 
mous English fictionist, immediately wrote to Mr. 
Forster expressing a hope that his book was finished. 

*From "Charles Dickens : A Critical Study," by George 
Gissing. Dodd, Mead & Company. 

tFrom "The Novels of Charles Dickens/' Frederick G. 
Kitton. Elliott Stock. 

240 



AT GAD'S HILL, 1856-1870 

"It is certainly one of his most beautiful works/' 
added the poet, '*if not the most beautiful of all. It 
would be too sad to think the pen had fallen from 
his hand, and left it incomplete!'' This generous praise 
found a warm supporter in Mr. Forster himself, who 
considered that *'some of the characters in the story 
were touched with subtlety, and in its description his 
imaginative power was at its best. Not a line was 
wanting to the reality, in the most minute detail, of 
places, the most widely contrasted; and we saw with 
equal vividness the lazy cathedral town and the lurid 
opium-eater's den." 



241 



XIII 

DICKENS AS ACTOR AND READER 

Throughout his life Dickens was drawn by an attraction 
for the stage. The dramatic element is strong in his novels. 
He was an eager actor in amateur theatricals which he pro- 
duced not only on a large scale but also at home for the 
amusement of his children. His public readings, at first given 
occasionally for charity, and, later as a business venture, gave 
him an outlet for dramatic expression. Their demands upon his 
strength probably shortened his life. The following selections 
testify to his own pleasure in his acting as expressed in his 
own words, to the appreciation of his friends for his acting as 
narrated by a member of his "company," and to the enthus- 
iasm of his audiences as told by the manager of his readings : 

CANADIAN THEATRICALS* 

The following extract from a letter to Cornelius 
C. Felton, professor of Greek at Harvard, gives a 
glimpse of Dickens^s pleasure in the theatricals which 
he directed at the garrison at Montreal: 

'^Montreal, Saturday, 21st May, 1842. 

''My dear Felton, 

* * * 

"The wig and whiskers are in a state of the high- 
est preservation. The play comes off next Wednes- 
day night, the 25th. What would I give to see you in 

'^From "The Letters of Charles Dickens/' edited by his 
sister-in-law and his eldest daughter. The Macmillan Company. 

242 



DICKENS AS ACTOR AND READER 

the front row of the center box, your spectacles gleam- 
ing not unlike those of my dear friend Pickwick, 
your face radiant with as broad a grin as a staid pro- 
fessor may indulge in, and your very coat, waistcoat, 
and shoulders expressive of what we should take to- 
gether when the performance was over! T would 
give something (not much, but still a good round 
sum) if you could only stumble into that very dark and 
dusty theater in the daytime (at any minute between 
twelve and three), and see me with my coat off, the 
stage manager and universal director, urging imprac-^ 
ticable ladies and impossible gentlemen on the very 
confines of insanity, shouting and driving about, In 
my own person, to an extent which would justify any 
philanthropic stranger in clapping me into a strait- 
waistcoat without further inquiry, endeavoring to goad 
H — — into some dim and faint understanding of a 
prompter's duties, and struggling in such a vortex 
of noise, dirt, bustle, confusion, and inextricable en- 
tanglement of speech and action as you would grow 
giddy in contemplating. We perform "A Roland 
for an Oliver," "A Good Night's Rest," and "Deaf 
as a Post." This kind of voluntary hard labor used 
to be my great delight. The furor has come strong 
upon me again, and I begin to be once more of opinion 
that nature intended me for the lessee of a national 
theater, and that pen, ink, and paper have spoiled a 
manager." 



243 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 
"SPLENDID STROLLING" 

Charles Dickens'^' — beaming in look, alert in man- 
ner, radiant with good humor, genial-voiced, gay, the 
very soul of enjoyment, fun, good taste and good 
spirits, admirable in organizing details and suggesting 
novelty of entertainment, — -was of all beings the very 
man for a holiday season; and in singularly excep- 
tional holiday fashion was it my fortunate hap to 
pass every hour that I spent in his society. First, at 
an evening party ; secondly, during one of the most un- 
usually festive series of theatrical performances ever 
given; thirdly, in delightful journeys to various places 
where we were to act; fourthly, in hilarious suppers 
after acting (notedly among the most jubilant of all 
meal-meetings!); fifthly, in one or two choice little 
dinner-parties at his own house ; sixthly, in a few bril- 
liant assemblages there, when artistic, musical, and lit- 
erary talent were represented by some of the most emi- 
nent among artists, musicians, and people of letters 
of the day; seventhly, in a dress rehearsal at Devon- 
shire House of Lytton Bulwer's drama of "Not so 
bad as we seem," played by Charles Dickens and some 
of his friends : and, eighthly, in a performance at Tav- 
istock House (where he then lived) of a piece called 
"The Lighthouse," expressly written for the due dis- 
play of Charles Dickens's and his friend Mark Lemon's 
supremely good povv^ers of acting. 

It has been before mentioned that when I first of- 
fered Charles Dickens to join his Amateur Company 

*From "Recollections of Writers," by Charles and Mary 
Cowden Clarke. Charles Scribner's Sons. 

244 



DICKENS AS ACTOR AND READER 

in 1848 and enact Dame Quickly in the performance 
of Shakespeare's ''Merry Wives/' which he was then 
proposing, he did not at first comprehend that my offer 
was made in earnest ; but on my writing to tell him so, 
he sent me the following letter, — ^which, when I re- 
ceived it, threw me into such rapture as rarely falls to 
the lot of woman possessing a strong taste for acting, 
yet who could hardly have expected to find it thus 
suddenly gratified in a manner beyond her most san- 
guine hopes. * * * 

Amid my transport and excitement there mingled 
some natural trepidation when the evening of ''the 
first rehearsal'' arrived, and I repaired with my sister 
Emma — who accompanied me throughout my "Splen- 
did Strolling" — to the appointed spot, and found my- 
self among the brilliant group assembled on the stage 
of the minature theater in Dean Street, Soho, men 
whom I had long known by reputation as distinguished 
artists and journalists. John Forster, Editor of the 
Examiner; two of the main-stays of Punch, Mark 
Lemon, its Editor, and John Leech, its inimitable illus- 
trator ; August Egg and Frank Stone, whose charming 
pictures floated before my vision while I looked at 
themselves for the first time : all turned their eyes upon 
the "amateur actress" as she entered the foot-lighted 
circle and joined their company. But the friendliness 
of their reception — as Charles Dickens, with his own 
ready grace and alacrity, successively presented her to 
them — soon relieved timidity on her part. Forster's 
gracious and somewhat stately bow was accompanied 
by an affable smile and a marked courtesy that were 
very winning; while Mark Lemon's fine open counte- 

245 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

nance, sweet-tempered look, and frank shake of the 
hand, at once placed Falstaff and Mistress Quickly "at 
ease'' with each other. * * * 

Then followed other rehearsals, delightful in the ex- 
treme; Charles Dickens ever present, superintending, 
directing, suggesting, with sleepless activity and vigi- 
lance: the essence of punctuality and methodical pre- 
cision himself, he kept incessant watch that others 
should be unfailingly attentive and careful throughout. 
Unlike most professional rehearsals, where waiting 
about, dawdling, and losing time, seem to be the order 
of the day, the rehearsals under Charles Dickens's 
stage-managership were strictly devoted to work — 
serious, earnest, work ; the consequence was, that when 
the evening of performance came, the pieces went off 
with a smoothness and polish that belong only to fin- 
ished stage-business and practised performers. He was 
always there among the first arrivers at rehearsals, and 
remained in a conspicuous position during their prog- 
ress till the very last moment of conclusion. He 
had a small table placed rather to one side of the 
stage, at which he generally sat, as the scenes went on 
in which he himself took no part. On this table rested 
a moderate-sized box; its interior divided into con- 
venient compartments for holding papers, letters, etc., 
and this interior was always the very pink of neatness 
and orderly arrangement. Occasionally he would leave 
his seat at the managerial table, and stand with his 
back to the footlights, in the very center of the front 
of the stage, and view the whole effect of the re- 
hearsed performance as it proceeded, observing the 
attitudes and positions of those engaged in the dia- 

246 



DICKENS AS ACTOR AND READER 

logue, their mode of entrance, exit, etc., etc. He 
never seemed to overlook anything; but to note the 
very slightest point that conduced to the ''going well" 
of the whole performance. With all this supervision 
however, it was pleasant to remark the utter absence 
of dictatorialness or arrogation of superiority that dis- 
tinguished his mode of ruling his troop: he exerted 
his authority firmly and perpetually; but in such a 
manner as to make it universally felt to be for no 
purpose of self-assertion or self-importance; on the 
contrary, to be for the sole purpose of ensuring gen- 
eral success to their united efforts. * * * 

The date of our first night at the Haymarket Thea- 
ter was the 15th of May,* 1848; when the entertain- 
ment consisted of ''The Merry Wives of Windsor" 
and "Animal Magnetism." The "make up" of Charles 
Dickens as Justice Shallow was so complete, that his 
own identity was almost unrecognizable when he came 
on to the stage, as the curtain rose, in company with 
Sir Hugh and Master Slender; but after a moment's 
breathless pause, the whole house burst forth into a 
roar of applausive reception, which testified to the 
boundless delight of the assembled audience on be- 
holding the hterary idol of the day, actually before 
them. His impersonation was perfect: the old, stiff 
limbs, the senile stoop of the shoulders, the head bent 
with age, the feeble step, with a certain attempted 
smartness of carriage characteristic of the con- 

'"In Forster^s "Life of Charles Dickens" the month is 
erroneously stated to be April; but I have the Haymarket 
Play-bill, beautifully printed in delicate colors, now before me. 
M. C. C. 

247 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

ceited Justice of the Peace, — were all assumed and 
maintained with wonderful accuracy ; while the articu- 
lation, — part lisp, part thickness of utterance, part a 
kind of impeded sibillation, like that of a voice that 
''pipes and whistles in the sound'' through loss of teeth 
— gave consummate effect to his mode of speech. The 
one in which Shallow says, " 'Tis the heart, Master 
Page ; 'tis here, 'tis here. ; I have seen the time with 
my long sword I would have made you four tall fel- 
lows skip like rats," was delivered with a humor of 
expression in effete energy of action and would-be 
fire of spirit that marvelously imaged fourscore years 
in its attempt to denote vigor long since extinct. * '^ * 

The first night's Hayiriarket performance was fol- 
lowed by my dining next evening at Charles Dickens's 
house in Devonshire Terrace, when Mrs. Dickens, 
having a box at the opera to see Jenny Lind in '*La 
Sonnambula," invited me to go with her there; and 
immediately upon this ensued the second night's per- 
formance at the Playmarket Theater, when the play- 
bill announced Ben Jonson's ''Every Man in his 
Humor," and Kenny's farce of "Love, Law, and 
Physic." 

The wa}^ in which Charles Dickens impersonated that 
arch braggart. Captain Bobadil, was a veritable piece 
of genius : from the moment when he is discovered 
lolling at full length on a bench in his lodging, calling 
for a "cup o' small beer" to cool down the remnants 
of excitement from last night's carouse with a set of 
roaring gallants, till his final boast of having "not so 
much as once offered to resist" the "coarse fellow" 
who set upon him in the open streets, he was capital. 

248 



DICKENS AS ACTOR AND READER 

The mode in which he went to the back of the stage 
before he made his exit from the first scene of Act ii., 
uttering the last word of the taunt he flings at Down- 
right with a bawl of stentorian loudness — "Scaven- 
ger!'' and then darted off the stage at full speed; the 
insolent scorn of his exclamation, "This a Toledo? 
pish!'' bending the sword into a curv^e as he spoke; 
the swaggering assumption of ease with which he 
leaned on the shoulder of his interlocutor puffing away 
his tobacco smoke and puffing it off as "your right 
Trinidado:" the grand impudence of his lying when 
explaining how he would despatch scores of the enemy, 
— "challenge twenty more, kill them ; twenty more, kill 
them ; twenty more, kill them too ;" ending by "twenty 
score, that's two hundred; two hundred a day, five 
days a thousand; forty thousand; forty times five, five 
times forty, two hundred days kills them all up by 
computation," rattling the words off while making an 
invisible sum of addition in the air, and scoring it con- 
clusively with an invisible line underneath, — were all 
the very height of fun. >i« * * 

Next came our first set of provincial performances, 
— Manchester, 3rd June ; Liverpool, sth June ; and Bir- 
mingham, 6th June, 1848. What times those were! 
What rapturous audiences a-tiptoe with expectation to 
see, hear, and welcome those whom they had known 
and loved through their written or delineated produc- 
tions. * * * Of course, in general, the storm of plaudits 
v/as loudest when Charles Dickens was recognized ; but 
at Birmingham such a rave of delight was heard at an 
unaccustomed point of the play, that we in the Green- 
room (who watched with interested ears the various 

249 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

"receptions" given) exclaimed, ''Why, who's that gone 
on to the stage?" It proved to be George Cruik- 
shanks, whose series of admirably impressive pictures 
called 'The Bottle" and "The Drunkard's Children" 
had lately appeared in Birmingham, and had been 
known to have wrought some wonderful effects in the 
way of restraining men from immoderate use of drink. 

Moreover, what enchanting journeys those were! 
The coming on to the platform at the station, where 
Charles Dickens's alert form and beaming look met 
one with pleasurable greeting; the interest and polite 
attention of the officials ; the being always seated with 
my sister Emma in the same railway carriage occupied 
by Mr. and Mrs. Charles Dickens and Mark Lemon; 
the delightful gaiety and sprightliness of our manager's 
talk; the endless stories he told us; the games he men- 
tioned and explained how they were played ; the bright 
amenity of his manner at various stations, where he 
showed to persons in authority the free-pass ticket 
which had been previously given in homage to "Charles 
Dickens and his party;" the courteous alacrity with 
which he jumped out at one refreshment-room to pro- 
cure food for somebody who had complained of hun- 
ger towards the end of the journey, and reappeared 
bearing a plate of buns which no one seemed inclined 
to eat, but which he held out, saying, "For Heaven's 
sake, somebody eat some of these buns ; I was in hopes 
I saw Miss Novello eye them with a greedy joy;" his 
indefatigable vivacity, cheeriness, and good humor 
from morning till night, — all were delightful. * * * 

The performance of "Used up" — thanks to diligent 
rehearsals steadily enforced by our "Implacable man- 

250 



DICKENS AS ACTOR AND READER 

ager," — went with such extraordinary smoothness as 
to call forth an expression of astonishment from the 
professional manager of the Glasgow Theater, who said 
that unless he had been positively assured the Amateur 
Company had never before played the piece, he could 
not have believed it to have been a first night's acting. 
Charles Dickens's Sir Charles Coldstream was excel- 
lent. * * * He was in wildest spirits at the brilliant re- 
ception and uproarious enthusiasm of the audience that 
evening [the last in Glasgow], said in his mad-cap 
mood, "Blow Domestic Hearth! I should like to be 
going on all over the kingdom, with Mark Lemon, Mrs. 
Cowden Clarke, and John [his manservant], and act- 
ing everywhere. There's nothing in the world equal 
to seeing the house rise at you, one sea of delighted 
faces, one hurrah of applause!" 

Aj reading in SCOTLAND* 

The following letter was addressed by Dickens to Mr. 
W. H. Wills, assistant editor of Household Words'. 

Carrick's Royal Hotel, Glasgow, 
Tuesday, Third December, 1861. 
My Dear Wills — From a paragraph, a letter, and 
an advertisement in a Scotsman I send you with this, 
you may form some dim guess at the scene we had in 
Edinburgh last night, I think I may say that I never 
saw a crowd before. 

As I was quietly dressing, I heard the people 
(when the doors were opened) come in with a most 

*From ''Charles Dickens as an Editor," by R. C. Lehmann 
in Chambers's Journal, and Living Age, August i, 1903. 

251 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

unusual crash, and I was very much struck by the 
place's obvious filling to the throat within five min- 
utes. But I thought no more of it, dressed placidly 
and went in at the usual time. I then found that there 
was a tearing mad crowd in all the passages and in the 
street, and that they were pressing a great turbid 
stream of people into the already crammed hall. The 
moment I appeared fifty frantic men addressed me at! 
once, and fifty other frantic men got upon ledges and 
cornices, and tried to find private audiences of their 
own. Meanwhile the crowd outside still forced the 
turbid stream in, and I began to have some general 
idea that the platform would be driven through the 
wall behind it, and the wall into the street. You know 
that your respected chief has a spice of coolness in 
him, and is not altogether unaccustomed to public 
speaking. Without the exercise of the two qualities, 
I think we should all have been there now. But when 
the uproarious spirits (who, as we strongly suspect, 
didn't pay at all) saw that it was quite impossible to 
disturb me, they gave in, and there was a dead silence. 
Then I told them, of course in the best way I could 
think of, that I was heartily sorry, but this was the 
fault of their own townsman (it was decidedly the 
fault of Wood's people, with maybe a trifle of prelim- 
inary assistance from Headland) ; that I would do any- 
thing to set it right; that I would at once adjourn to 
the Music Hall, if they thought it best; or that I 
would alter my arrangements, and come back, and read 
to all Edinburgh if they wished (meantime Gordon, 
if you please, is softening the crowd outside, and dim 
reverberations of his stentorian roars are audible. 

252 



DICKENS AS ACTOR AND READER 

At this there is great cheering, and they cry "Go on, 
Mr. Dickens; everybody will be quiet now/' Up- 
roarious spirit exclaims, "We won't be quiet. We 
won't let the reading be heard. "We're ill-treated/' 
Respected chief says, "There's plenty of time, and you 
may rely upon it that the reading is in no danger of 
being heard until we are agreed." Therefore good 
humoredly shuts up book. Laugh turned against up- 
roarious spirit, and uproarious spirit shouldered cut. 
Respected chief prepares, amidst calm, to begin, when 
gentleman (with full-dressed lady, torn to ribbons, on 
his arm) cries out, "Mr. Dickens!" "Sir." "Couldnt 
some people, at all events ladies, be accomm.odated on 
your platform?" "Most certainly:" Loud cheering. 
"Which way can they come to the platform, Mr. 
Dickens?" "Round here to my left." In a minute 
the platform was crowded. Everybody who came 
up laughed and said it was nothing when I told them 
in a low voice how sorry I was ; but the moment they 
were there the sides began to roar because they couldn't 
see! At least half the people were ladies, and I 
then proposed to them to sit down or lie down. In- 
stantly they all dropped into recumbent groups, with 
the respected chief standing up in the center. I don't 
know what it looked like most — a battlefield — an im- 
possible tableau — a gigantic picnic. 

There was a very pretty girl in full dress lying down 
on her side all night, and holding on to one leg of my 
table. So I read Nickleby and the Trial. From the 
beginning to the end they didn't lose one point, and 
they ended with a great burst of cheering. 



253 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 
FIRST READING IN AMERICA* 

A TIMELY notice having been given that no private 
applications for tickets on the first day's sale would 
be attended to, a crowd assembled on the night pre- 
ceding the sale in Tremont Street, Boston, such as has 
never been seen before on an occasion of the kind. 
Intending purchasers sent their clerks, servants, and 
others to take their places outside the store of Messrs. 
Ticknor and Fields, as early as ten o'clock on the 
Sunday night, supplying each of them with a straw 
mattress, blankets, food, and in many cases with to- 
bacco and creature comforts of an alcoholic descrip- 
tion. As all sales of tickets for places of amusement 
and for railways in America are conducted as in France 
(en queue), the proceedings were of a most orderly 
character. 

By eight o'clock in the morning the queue was 
nearly half a mile long, and about that time the em- 
ployers of the persons who had been standing in the 
streets all night began to arrive and take their places. 
Some idea of the extent of the sale may be formed 
when it is mentioned that the sale lasted over eleven 
hours, and until every ticket for the first course of 
four Readings was disposed of. The receipts amounted 
to $14,000. * * * 

The day following was devoted to preparing for 
the evening's Reading, some hours being spent in the 
superintendence of the erection of the screen, gas ar- 

*From "Charles Dickens as I Knew Him ; The Story of 
the Reading Tours in Great Britain and America," by George 
Dolby. T. Fisher Unwin. 

254 



DICKENS AS ACTOR AND READER 

rangements, and the fixing of the httle reading-table. 
The Tremont Temple had to be tested acoustically, a 
process that was always gone through in every new 
room in which he read. 

The process was very simple, and was conducted in 
the following manner. Mr. Dickens used to stand at 
his table, whilst I walked about from place to place 
in the hall or theater, and a conversation in a low tone 
of voice was carried on between us during my perambu- 
lations. * * * 

The reception accordede to Mr. Dickens, in making 
his appearance at the little table, had never been 
of the most brilliant description, being composed of 
all the notabilities in Boston, literary and artistic, added 
to which New York had supplied its contingent from 
the same sources, and had further sent to Boston a 
staff of newspaper men to report, by telegraph, col- 
umns of description of the first Reading, so that on 
Tuesday, December 3rd [1867], not only had all the 
Boston papers a full account, but so had also the New 
York papers — a compliment which was highly appre- 
ciated by Mr. Dickens. 

The reception accorded to Mr. Dickens, in making 
his appearance at the little table, had never been 
surpassed by the greetings he was in the habit of 
receiving in Edinburgh and Manchester, and was cal- 
culated to unnerve a man of even greater moral cour- 
age than he was possessed of. Those who were not 
applauding and waving handkerchiefs were seriously 
"taking in'' the appearance of the man to whom they 
owed so much, which up to this time they knew only 
by the bad photographs in the shop windows. * * * 

255 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

When everything was quiet, and the deafening 
cheers which had greeted his appearance had subsided, 
a terrible silence prevailed, and it seemed a relief to his 
hearers when he at last commenced the Reading. The 
effect of the first few words (without any prefatory 
remark) : *'A Christmas Carol in four staves. Stave 
one, Marley's Ghost. Marley is dead to begin with. 
There is no doubt whatever about that,'' * * * 
placed the reader and his audience on good terms with 
one another, the audience settling itself down in rapt 
attention for what was to follow; and by the time 
the first chapter was finished the success of the Read- 
ings, certainly so far as Boston was concerned, was an 
accomplished fact. * * * 

* * * in all my experiences with him, I never 
knew him to read the description of the Cratchit 
Christmas dinner with so much evident enjoyment to 
himself, and with so much relish to his audience. When 
at last the Reading of "The Carol" was finished, and 
the final words had been delivered, and "so, as Tiny 
Tim observed, God bless us every one," a dead silence 
seemed to prevail — a sort of public sigh as it were — 
only to be broken by cheers and calls, the most en- 
thusiastic and uproarious, causing Mr. Dickens to 
break through his rule, and again presenting himself 
before his audience to bow his acknowledgments. 

No one but myself (and his servant Scott) was ever 
allowed (except on rare occasions) to go into his 
dressing-room during the interval between his first 
and second Reading, but on this evening Fields had 
been invited to do so. He, on entering the room, ex- 
claimed. "You have given me a new lease of life, for I 

256 



DICKENS AS ACTOR AND READER 

have been so looking forward to this occasion that I 
have had an idea all day that I should die at five min- 
utes to eight tonight, and be deprived of a longing de- 
sire I have had to hear you read in my country for the 
last nineteen years." 

^ ^ ^ After a lapse of a few minutes (ten min- 
utes only being allowed for the interval), Mr. Dickens 
returned to the table to make his audience shriek with 
laughter, and revel in the portrayal of the humorous 
characters in the far-famed Reading of the "Trial from 
Pickwick,'' which had been given by him so often in 
England, that he often strayed away from the actual 
text, and indulged in the habit of an occasional ''gag." 
As nearly every line of "Pickwick" was as well 
known to the audience as to himself (for in Boston 
nearly every man, woman, and child, was a "Pickwick- 
ian," certainly so far as their knowledge of the book 
was concerned), these occasional liberties with the 
text were the more enjoyed, and, being invariably 
taken on the spur of the moment, were regarded more 
in the light of a new edition, direct from the author, 
than anything else. * * * 

The Reading being concluded, and the most enthus- 
iastic signs of approval having been accorded to the 
Reader in the form of recall after recall, Mr. Dickens 
indulged in his usual "rub down," changing his dress- 
clothes for those he habitually wore when not en grande 
tenue, and a few of his most intimate friends were ad- 
mitted into his dressing-room to offer their congratu- 
lations on the result of the evening's experiences. * * * 

After the fatigue and excitement of the Readings in 
America (although on this particular evening he de- 

257 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

dared he was as cool and collected as if he had been 
reading in Greenwich), it was his great pleasure to 
have a few friends to supper with him at the hotel, 
and on this occasion Mr. and Mrs. Fields, and some 
others joined our supper party — friends whose judg- 
ment could be relied upon— when all agreed that never 
before had anything in Boston called forth such enthus- 
iasm as that night's Reading had done, an assurance 
that gave Mr. Dickens the greatest satisfaction. 



258 



I 



XIV 

SPORTS AND PETS* 

As a child my father was prevented from any active 
participation in the sports and amusements of his boy- 
ish companions by his extreme dehcacy and frequent 
illnesses, so that until his manhood his knowledge of 
games was gained merely from long hours of watching 
others while lying upon the grass. With manhood, 
however, came the strength and activity which en- 
abled him to take part in all kinds of out-door exer- 
cise and sports, and it seemed that in his passionate 
enjoymicnt and participation in those later years he was 
recompensed for the weary childhood years of suffer- 
ing and inability. Athletic sports were a passion with 
him in his manhood, as I have said. In 1839 he rented 
a cottage at Petersham, not far from London, "where," 
to quote from Mr. Forster, "the extensive garden 
grounds admitted of much athletic competition, in 
which Dickens, for the most part, held his own against 
even such accomplished athletes as Maclise and Mr. 
Beard. Bar leaping, bowling and quoits were among 
the games carried on with the greatest ardor, and in 
sustained energy Dickens certainly distanced every 
competitor. Even the lighter recreations of battledore 
and bagatelle were pursued with relentless activity. At 
such amusements as the Petersham races, in those days 
rather celebrated, and which he visited daily while 

*From "My Father as I Recall Him," by Mamie Dickens. 
Roxburghe Press. 

259 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

they lasted, he worked much harder than the running 
horses did/' 

Riding was a favorite recreation at all times with 
my father, and he was constantly inviting one or an- 
other of his friends to bear him company on these ex- 
cursions. Always fond, in his leisure hours, of com- 
panions, he seemed to find his rides and walks quite 
incomplete if made alone. * * * As a young man 
he was extremely fond of riding, but as I never re- 
member seeing him. on horseback I think he must have 
deprived himself of this pastime soon after his mar- 
riage. 

But walking was, perhaps, his chiefest pleasure, and 
the country lanes and city streets alike found him a 
close observer of their beauties and interests. He was 
a rapid walker, his usual pace being four miles an hour, 
and to keep step with him required energy and activity 
similar to his own. In many of his letters he speaks 
with most evident enjoyment of this pastime. * ^ * 

Outdoor games of the simpler kinds delighted him. 
Battledore and shuttlecock was played constantly in 
the garden at Devonshire Terrace, though I do not 
remember my father ever playing it elsewhere. The 
American game of bowls pleased him and rounders 
found him more than expert. Croquet he disliked, 
but cricket he enjoyed intensely as a spectator, alwavs 
keeping one of the scores during the matches at "Gad's 
Hill." 

He was a firm believer in the hygiene of bathing, 
and cold baths, sea baths and shower baths were among 
his most constant practices. In those days scientific 
ablution was not very generally practised, and I am 

260 



SPORTS AND PETS 

sure that in many places during his travels my father 
was looked upon as an amiable maniac with a penchant 
for washing. 

During his first visit to America, while he was mak- 
ing some journey in a rather rough and uncomfortable 
canal boat, he wrote: ''I am considered very hardy in 
the morning, for I run up barenecked and plunge my 
head into the half-frozen water by half-past five 
o'clock. I am respected for my activity, inasmuch as 
I jump from the boat to the towing path, and walk 
five or six miles before breakfast, keeping up with the 
horses all the time." And from Broadstairs: "In a 
bay window sits, from nine o'clock to one, a gentleman 
with rather long hair and no neck-cloth, who writes and 
grins as if he thought he were very funny, indeed. 
At one o'clock he disappears, presently emerges from 
a bathing machine, and may be seen a kind of salmon- 
colored porpoise, splashing about in the ocean. After 
that, he may be viewed in another bay window on the 
ground floor eating a good lunch ; and after that, w^alk- 
ing a dozen miles or so, or lying on his back on the 
sand reading. Nobody bothers him, unless they know 
he is disposed to be talked to ; and I am told he is very 
comfortable, indeed." 

During the hottest summer months of our year's 
residence in Italy, we Hved at a little seaport of the 
Mediterranean called Albaro. * * * i remember 
one m^orning the terrible fright we were given by an 
uncle of ours ; he swam out into the bay, was caught by 
the current of an ebb tide and borne out of reach of our 
eyes. A fishing boat picked him up still alive, though 
greatly exhausted. 'Tt was a world of horror and 

261 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

anguish crowded into four or five minutes of dreadful 
agitation/' wrote my father, "and to complete the ter- 
ror of it the entire family, including the children, 
were on the rock in full view of it ail, crying like mad 
creatures." 

He loved animals, flowers and birds, his fondness for 
the latter being shown nowhere more strongly than in 
his devotion to his ravens at Devonshire Terrace. He 
writes characteristically of the death of "Grip,'' the 
first raven : "You will be greatly shocked and grieved 
to hear that the raven is no more. He expired today at 
a few minutes after twelve o'clock, at noon. He had 
been ailing for a few days, but we anticipated no se- 
rious result conjecturing that a portion of the white 
paint he swallowed last summer might be lingering 
about his vitals. Yesterday afternoon he was taken 
so much worse that I sent an express for the medical 
gentleman, who promptly attended and administered a 
powerful dose of castor oil. Under the influence of 
this medicine he recovered so far as to be able, at eight 
o'clock, p. m., to bite Topping (the coachman). His 
night was peaceful. This morning at daybreak he ap- 
peared better, and partook plentifully of some warm 
grtiel, the flavor of which he appeared to relish. To- 
ward eleven o'clock he was so much worse that it was 
found necessary to muffle the stable knocker. At 
half-past or thereabouts, he was heard talking to him- 
self about the horse and Topping's family, and to add 
some incoherent expressions which are supposed to 
have been either a foreboding of his approaching dis- 
solution or some wishes relative to the disposal of his 
little property, consisting chiefly of half -pence which 



SPORTS AND PETS 

he had buried in different parts of the garden. On 
the clock striking twelve he appeared slightly agitated, 
but he soon recovered, walked twice or thrice along 
the coach-house, stopped to bark, staggered, and ex- 
claimed ^Halloa, old girl!' (his favorite expression) 
and died. He behaved throughout with decent forti- 
tude, equanimity and self-possession. I deeply regret 
that, being in ignorance of his danger, I did not attend 
to receive his last instructions. 

'^Something remarkable about his eyes occasioned 
Topping to run for the doctor at twelve. When they 
returned together our friend was gone. It was the 
medical gentleman who informed me of his decease. 
He did it with caution and delicacy, preparing me by 
the remark that 'a jolly queer start had taken place.' 
I am not wholly free from suspicions of poison. A 
malicious butcher has been heard to say that he would 
'do' for him. His plea was that he would not be mo- 
lested in taking orders down the mews by any bird that 
wore a tail. Were they ravens who took manna to some- 
body in the wilderness? At times I hope they were, 
and at others I fear they were not, or they would cer- 
tainly have stolen it by the way. Kate is as well as 
can be expected. The children seem rather glad of it. 
He bit their ankles, but that was in play." As my 
father was writing ''Barnaby Rudge" at this time, and 
wished to continue his study of raven nature, another 
and a larger ''Grip" took the place of "our friend" but 
it was he whose talking tricks and comical ways gave 
my father the idea of making a raven one of the char- 
acters of this book. My father's fondness for "Grip ' 
was, however, never transferred to any other raven, 

263 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

and none of us ever forgave the butcher whom we all 
held in some way responsible for his untimely taking 
off. 

But I think his strongest love, among animals, was 
for dogs. * * * 

On account of our birds, cats were not allowed in 
the house; but from a friend in London I received a 
present of a white kitten — Williamina — and she and 
her numerous offspring had a happy home at "Gad's 
Hill." She became a favorite with all the household, 
and showed particular devotion to my father. I re- 
member on one occasion when she had pre- 
sented us with a family of kittens, she selected a cor- 
ner of father's study for their home. She brought 
them one by one from the kitchen and deposited them 
in her chosen corner. My father called to me to re- 
move them, saying that he could not allow the kittens 
to remain in his room. I did so, but Williamina brought 
them back again, one by one. Again they were re- 
moved. The third time, instead of putting them in 
the corner, she placed them all, and herself beside 
them, at m.y father's feet, and gave him such an im- 
ploring glance that he could not resist no longer, and 
they were allowed to remain. As the kittens grew 
older they became more and more frolicsome, swarm- 
ing up the curtains, playing about on the writing table 
and scampering behind the book shelves. But they 
were never complained of and lived happily in the 
stud}^ until the time came for finding them other homes. 
One of these kittens was kept, who, as he was quite 
deaf, was left unnamed, and became known by ^hc 
servants as "the master's cat," because of his devotion 

264 



SPORTS AND PETS 

to my father. He was always with him, and used to 
follow him about the garden like a dog, and sit with 
him while he wrote. One evening we were all, except 
father, going to a ball, and when we started, left "the 
master'' and his cat in the drawing-room together. 
"The master'' was reading at a small table, on which 
a lighted candle was placed. Suddenly the candle went 
out. My father, who was much interested in his book, 
relighted the candle, stroked the cat, who was looking 
at him pathetically he noticed, and continued his read- 
ing. A few minutes later, as the light became dim, he 
looked up just in time to see puss deliberately put out 
the candle with his paw, and then look appealingly 
toward him. This second and unmistakable hint was 
not disregarded and puss was given the petting he 
craved. Father was full of this anecdote when all met 
at breakfast the next morning. 

Among our dogs were "Turk" and "Linda," the 
former a beautiful mastiff and the latter a soft- 
eyed, gentle, good-tempered St. Bernard. "Mrs. 
Bouncer," a Pomeranian came next, a tiny ball of white 
fluffy fur, who came as a special gift to me, and speed- 
ily won her way by her grace and daintiness into the 
affections of every member of the household. My 
father became her special slave, and had a peculiar 
voice for her — as he had for us, when we were chil- 
dren — to which she would respond at once by running 
to him from any part of the house when she heard his 
call. He delighted to see her with the large dogs, 
with whom she gave herself great airs, "because," as 
he said, "she looks so preposterously small." A few 
years later came "Don," a Newfoundland, and then 

265 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

''Bumble," his son, named after "Oliver Twist's" 
beadle, because of a peculiarly pompous and over- 
bearing manner he had of appearing to mount guard 
over the yard when he was an absolute infant. Lastly 
came "Sultan," an Irish bloodhound, who had a bitter 
experience with his life at "Gad's Hill." One evening, 
having broken his chain, he fell upon a little girl who 
was passing and bit her so severely that my father 
considered it necessary to have him shot, although this 
decision caused him a great deal of sorrow. * * * 

"Mrs. Bouncer" was honored by many messages from 
her master during his absence from home. Here is 
one written as I was convalescing from a serious ill- 
ness: "In my mind's eye I behold 'Mrs. Bouncer,' 
still with some traces of anxiety on her faithful coun- 
tenance, balancing herself a little unequally on her 
forelegs, pricking up her ears with her head on one 
side, and slightly opening her intellectual nostrils. I 
send my loving and respectful duty to her." Again: 
"Think of my dreaming of 'Mrs. Bouncer' each 
night!!!" 

My father's love for dogs led him into a strange 
friendship during our stay at Boulogne. There lived in a 
cottage on the street which led from our house to the 
town, a cobbler who used to sit at his window working 
all day with his dog — a Pomeranian — on the table be- 
side him. The cobbler, in whom my father became 
very much interested because of the intelligence of his 
Pomeranian companion, was taken ill, and for many 
months was unable to work. My father writes : "The 
cobbler has been ill these many months. The little 
dog sits at the door so unhappy and anxious to help 

266 



SPORTS AND PETS 

that I every day expect to see him beginning a pair of 
top boots." Another time father writes in telHng the his- 
tory of this Httie animal: ''A cobbler at Boulogne, 
who had the nicest of little dogs that always sat in 
his sunny window watching him at his work, asked me 
if I would bring the dog home as he couldn't afford to 
pay the tax for him. The cobbler and the dog being 
both my particular friends I complied. The cobbler 
parted w4th the dog heartbroken. When the dog got 
home here, my man, like an idiot as he is, tied him up 
and then untied him. The moment the gate was open, 
the dog (on the very day of his arrival) ran out. Next 
day Georgy and I saw him lying all covered with mud, 
dead, outside the neighboring church. How am I ever 
to tell the cobbler? He is too poor to come to England, 
so I feel that I must lie to him for life, and say that 
the dog is fat and happy.'' 

Of horses and ponies we possessed but few during 
our childhood, and these were not of very choice 
breed. I remember, however, one pretty pony which 
was our delight, and dear old 'Toby,'' the good sturdy 
horse which for many years we used at *'Gad's Hill." 
My father, however, was very fond of horses, and I re- 
call hearing him comment on the strange fact that an 
animal ''so noble in its qualities should be the cause 
of so much villainy." 



267 



XV 

THE DEATH OF DICKENS 

*I well recall the confusion and grief of that morning 
in June, 1870, when, opening the Times, I read in cap- 
itals, DEATH OF CHARLES DICKENS. It must 

have brought a shock more or less to every reader. 
* * * 

And about a week later (Tuesday, June 14, 1870) 
I write: ''Have just come in from Westminster Ab- 
bey." It had been a sultry, fiercely glowing day, and 
I entered below the vast and cool vaulting. There 
was a great crowd in one of the transepts ; four forms 
tied together made a sort of enclosure. These were 
covered with black cloth, and, stooping over, I saw 
the oak coffin below. It was handsome and massive, 
and there was a bold, well-cut inscription. How it 
affected me to look down into that grave on that 
bright name — as it always seemed to be — ''CHARLES 
DICKENS," bright as his own gleaming face! 

TRIBUTES TO DICKENSf 

From the pulpit of the Abbey, within sight of the 
grave, the Bishop of Manchester, preaching from the 

*From "The Life of Charles Dickens as Revealed in his 
Writings," by Percy Fitzgerald. Chatto and Windus. 

tFrom "A Day with Charles Dickens," by Blanchard Jer- 
rold. The Useful Knowledge Company, London. 

26S 



THE DEATH OF DICKENS 

words. ''Great is the mystery of godliness," said: — 
"It will not be out of harmony with the line of 
thought we have been pursuing — * * * — if in the 
simplest and briefest words I allude to that sad and 
unexpected death which has robbed English litera- 
ture of one of its highest living ornaments, and the 
news of which, two mornings ago, must have made 
every household in England feel as though they had 
lost a personal friend. He has been called in one no- 
tice an apostle of the people. I suppose it is meant 
that he had a mission but in a style and fashion of his 
own; a gospel, a cheery, joyous, gladsome message, 
which the people understood, and by which they could 
hardly help being bettered ; it was the gospel of kindli- 
ness, of brotherly love, of sympathy in the widest sense 
of the word. * * * jj^ ^j^q j^^5 taught us our 
duty to our fellow-men better than we knew it before, 
who knew so well to weep with them that wept, and 
to rejoice with them that rejoiced, who has shown forth 
all his knowledge of the dark corners of the earth, 
how much sunshine may rest upon the lowliest lot, 
who had such evident sympathy with suffering, such 
natural instinct of purity, that there is scarcely a page 
of the thousands he has written which might not be 
put into the hands of a little child, must be regarded 
by those who recognize the diversity of gifts of the 
spirit as a teacher sent from God. He would have 
been welcomed as a fellow-laborer in the common in- 
terests of humanity by Him who asked the question, 
'If a man love not his brother whom he hath seen, 
how can he love God, whom, he hath not seen ?' " 
The Rev. Henry White, chaplain to the House of 

269 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

Commons, in his sermon at the Savoy Chapel, spoke of 
the death of Charles Dickens, and said that, strange as 
it might sound, Mr. Dickens had by his writings done 
essential service to the Christian Church. * * • 

Dean Stanley said: — "Those whom sermons never 
reach, whom history fails to arrest, are reached and 
arrested by the fictitious characters, the .stirring plot, 
of the successful novelist. It is this which makes a 
wicked novel more detestable than almost any other 
form of wicked words or deeds. It is this which gives 
even to a foolish or worthless novel a demoralizing 
force beyond its own contemptible demerits. It is this 
which makes a good novel — pure in style, elevating in 
thought, true in sentiment — one of the best boons to 
the Christian home and to the Christian state." * * * 

"But even thus, and even in this sacred place, it is 
good to remember that, in the writings of him who is 
gone, we have had the most convincing proof that it 
is possible to have moved old and young to inextin- 
guishable laughter without the use of a single expres- 
sion which could defile the purest, or .shock the most 
sensitive. * ^{c >jc However deep into the dregs of 
society his varied imagination led him in his writings 
to descend, it still breathed an untainted atmosphere. 
He was able to show us, by his own example, that even 
in dealing with the darkest scenes and the most de- 
graded characters, genius could be clean, and mirth 
could be innocent.'' * * * 

"It was the distinguishing glory of a famous Spanish 
saint, that she was 'the advocate of the absent.' * * * 
Such was he who lies yonder. By him that 
veil was rent asunder which parts the various 

270 



THE DEATH OF DICKENS 

classes of society. Through his genius the rich 
man, faring sumptuously every day, was made to 
see and feel the presence of the Lazarus at his gate. 
The unhappy inmates of the workhouse, the neglected 
children in the dens and caves of our great cities, the 
starved and ill-used boys in remote schools, far from 
the observation of men, felt that a new ray of sun- 
shine was poured on their dark existence — a new in- 
terest awakened in their forlorn and desolate lot. It 
was because an unknown friend had pleaded their 
cause with a voice which rang through the palaces of 

the great, as well as through the cottages of the poor 
* * * 

"Many, many are the feet which have trodden and 
will tread the consecrated ground around that narrovv' 
grave : many, many are the hearts which both in the Old 
and in the New World are drawn towards it, as to- 
wards the resting-place of a dear personal friend; 
many are the flowers that have been strewed, many 
the tears shed, by the grateful affection of 'the poor 
that cried, and the fatherless, and those that had none 
to help them/ May I speak to these a few sacred 
words which perhaps will come with a new meaning 
and a deeper force, because they come from the lips 
of a lost friend — because they are the most solemn ut- 
terunce cf lips now for ever closed in the grave. They 
are extracted from 'the will of Charles Dickens, dated 
May 12, 1869,' and they will be heard by m.ost here 
present for the first time. After the emphatic injunc- 
tions respecting 'the inexpensive, unostentatious, and 
strictly private manner' of his funeral, which were 
carried out to the very letter, he thus contmues : T di- 

271 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

rect that my name be inscribed in plain English letters 
on my tomb. ... I conjure my friends on no 
account to make me the subject of any monument, 
memorial, or testimonial whatever. I rest my claims 
to the remembrance of my country upon my published 
works, and to the remembrance of my friends upon 
their experience of me in addition thereto. I commit 
my soul to the mercy of God through our Lord and 
Saviour Jesus Christ; and I exhort my dear children 
humbly to try to guide themselves by the teaching of 
the New Testament in its broad spirit, and to put no 
faith in any man's narrow construction of its letter 
here or there.' 

"In that simple but sufficient faith he lived and 
died ; in that faith he bids you live and die. If any of 
you have learned from his works the value, the eternal 
value of generosity, purity, kindness, unselfishness, 
and have learned to show these in your own hearts 
and lives, these are the best monuments, memorials, 
and testimonials of the friend whom you loved, and 
who loved, with a rare and touching love, his friends, 
his country, and his fellow men: — monuments which 
he would not refuse, and which the humblest, the poor- 
est, the youngest have it in their power to raise to his 
memory." 



272 



XVI 

ART, VERACITY, AND MORAL PURPOSE* 

It is a thankless task to write of such a man as Dick- 
ens in disparaging phrase. I am impatient to reach 
that point of my essay where I shall be at liberty to 
speak with admiration unstinted, to dwell upon the 
strength of the master's work, and exalt him where 
he is unsurpassed. But it is necessary to clear the 
way. So great a change has come over the theory 
and practice of fiction in the England of our times 
that we must needs treat of Dickens as, in many re- 
spects, antiquated. To be antiquated is not necessa- 
rily to be condemned, in art or anything else (save wea- 
pons of slaughter) ; but * * * we feel that, in one direc- 
tion [the construction of his stories], Dickens suffers 
from a comparison with novelists, his peers, of a newer 
day, even with some who were strictly his contempora- 
ries. We have now to ask ourselves in what other re- 
spects his w^ork differs markedly from the prevalent con- 
ception of the art of novel-writing. It will be seen, of 
course, that, theoretically, he had very little m com- 
mon with our school of strict veracity, of realism — 
call it what you please; the school which, quite apart 
from extravagance, has directed fiction into a path it 
is likely to pursue for many a year to come. Hard 

*From "Charles Dickens, a Critical Study," by George 
Gissing. Dodd, Mead and Company. 

273 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

words are spoken of him by young writers whose zeal 
outruns their discretion, and far outstrips their knowl- 
edge; from the advanced posts of modern criticism 
any stone is good enough to throw at a novelist who 
avows and glories in his moral purpose ; who would on 
no account bring a blush to the middle class cheek; 
who at any moment tampers with truth of circum- 
stance that his readers may have joy rather than sor- 
row. Well, we must look into this matter, and, as 
Captain Cuttle says, take its bearings. Endeavoring 
to judge Dickens as a man of his time, we must see in 
what spirit he approached his tasks; what he con- 
sciously sought to achieve in this pursuit of stor}'^- 
telling. One thing, assuredly, can never become old- 
fashioned in any disdainful sense; that is, sincerity of 
purpose. Novelists of today desire above everything 
to be recognized as sincere in their picturing of life. 
If Dickens prove to be no less honest, according to his 
lights, we must then glance at the reasons which re- 
move him so far from us in his artistic design and 
execution. 

Much fault has been found with Forster's "Biogra- 
phy," which is generally blamed as giving undue prom- 
inence to the figure of the biographer. I cannot join 
in this censure ; I prefer to echo the praise of Thomas 
Carlyle: ''So long as Dickens is interesting to his fel- 
low-men, here will be seen, face to face, what Dick- 
ens's manner of existing was." Carlyle, I conceive, 
was no bad judge of a biography; as a worker in lit- 
erature he appreciated this vivid presentment of a fel- 
low-worker. I should say, indeed, that there exists no 
book more immediately helpful to a young man be 

274 



ART, VERACITY, AND MORAL PURPOSE 

ginning his struggle in the world of letters (especially, 
of course, to the young novelist) than this of For- 
ster's. And simply because it exhibits in such rich 
detail the story, and the manner, of Dickens's work; 
showing him at his desk day by day, recounting his 
hidden difficulties, his secret triumphs; in short, mak- 
ing the man live over again before us the noblest por- 
tion of his life. 

One thing to be learned from every page of the 
biography is the strenuous spirit in which Dickens 
wrought. Whatever our judgment as to the result, 
his zeal and energy were those of the born artist. Pas- 
sages numberless might be quoted from his letters, 
showing how he enjoyed the labor of production, how 
he threw himself into the imaginative world with which 
he w^as occupied, how impossible it was for him to put 
less than all his splendid force into the task of the 
moment. A good instance is the following. He writes 
to tell his friend Forster of some private annoyance, 
which had threatened to upset his day's work. "I 
was most horribly put out for a little while ; for I had 
got up early to go to work, and was full of interest 
in what I had to do. But having eased my mind by 
that note to you, and taken a turn or two up and down 
the room, I went at it again, and soon got so inter- 
ested that I blazed away till nine last night; only 
stopping ten minutes for dinner. I suppose I wrote 
eight printed pages of 'Chuzzlewit' yesterday. The 
consequence is that I could finish today, but am taking 
it easy, and making myself laugh very much.'' (For- 
ster, Book IV. 2). Year after year, he keeps his 
friend minutely informed by letter of the progress 

^75 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

he makes with every book; consults him on endless 
points, great and small; is inexhaustible in gossip 
about himself, which never appears egotistic because of 
the artistic earnestness declared in every syllable. With 
no whit less conscientiousness did he discharge his 
duties as editor of a magazine. We find him writing 
to Forster: ''I have had a story" — accepted from an 
imperfectly qualified contributor— "to hack and hew 
into some form for Household Words this morning, 
which has taken me fovir hours of close attention.'' 
Four hours of Dickens's time, in the year 1856, devoted 
to such matter as this!— where any ordinary editor, 
or rather his assistant, would have contented himself 
with a few blottings and insertions, sure that ''the 
great big stupid public," as Thackeray called it, would 
be no better pleased, toil how one might. To Dickens 
the public was not everything; he could not rest until 
the deformities of that little bit of writing were re- 
moved, and no longer offended his eye. 

Even so. On the other hand, having it in mind to 
make a certain use of a character in ''Dombey and 
Son," he seriously asks Forster : "Do you think it may 
be done, without making people angry?" 

Here is the contradiction so irritating to Dickens's 
severer critics, the artistic generation of today. WTiat ! 
— they exclaim — a great writer, inspired with a thor- 
oughly fine idea, is to stay his hand until he has made 
grave inquiry whether Messrs. Mudie's subscribers will 
approve it or not! The mere suggestion is infuriating. 
And this — they vociferate — is what Dickens was always 
doing. It may be true that he worked like a Trojan, 
but what is the use of work, meant to be artistic, car- 

276 



ART, VERACITY, AND MORAL PURPOSE 

ried on in hourly fear of Mrs. Grundy? Fingers are 
pointed to this, that, and the other Continental nov- 
elist; can you imagine him in such sorry plight? Why, 
nothing would have pleased him better than to know 
he was outraging public sentiment! In fact, it is only 
when one does so that one's work has a chance of being 
good. 

All which may be true enough in relation to the 
speakers. As regards Dickens, it is irrelevant. Dick- 
ens had before him no such artistic ideal; he never 
desired freedom to offend his public. Sympathy with 
his readers was to him the very breath of life; the 
more complete that sympathy the better did he esteem 
his work. Of the restrictions laid upon him he was 
perfectly aw^are, and there is evidence that he could 
see the artistic advantage which would result from a 
slackening of the bonds of English prudery; but it 
never occurred to him to m.ake public protest against 
the prejudices in force. Dickens could never have 
regarded it as within a story-teller's scope to attempt 
the conversion of his readers to a new view of literary 
morals. Against a political folly, or a social injustice, 
he would use every resource of his art, and see no 
reason to hesitate; for there was the certainty of the 
approval of all good folk. To write a novel in a spirit 
of antagonism to all but a very few of his countrymen 
would have seemed to him a sort of practical bull; 
is it not the law of novel-writing, first and foremost, 
that one shall aim at pleasing as many people as pos- 
sible ? 

In his preface to 'Tendennis" Thackeray spoke very 
plainly on this subject. He honestly told his readers 

277 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

that they must not expect to find in his novel the 
whole truth about the life of a young man, seeing that, 
since the author of 'Tom Jones,'' no English writer 
had been permitted such frankness. The same thing 
is remarked by Dickens in a letter which Forster prints ; 
a letter written from Paris, and commenting on the 
inconsistency of English people, who, living abroad and 
reading foreign authors, complain that "the hero of 
an English book is always uninteresting." He pro- 
ceeds : "But O my smooth friend, what a shining im- 
postor you must think yourself, and what an ass you 
must think me, when you suppose that by putting a 
brazen face upon it you can blot out of my knowledge 
the fact that this same unnatural young gentleman 
(if to be decent is to be necessarily unnatural), whom 
you meet in those other books and in mine, must be 
presented to you in that unnatural aspect by reason 
of your morality, and is not to have, I will not say 
any of the indecencies you like, but not even 
any of the experiences, trials, perplexities, and con- 
fusions inseparable from the making or unmaking 
of all men.'' (Forster, Book XL i.) This he clearly 
saw ; but it never disturbed his conscience for the rea- 
son indicated. Thackeray, we may be sure, thought 
much more on the subject, and in graver mood; and 
as d^ result he allowed himself more liberty than Dick- 
ens — not without protest from the many-headed. There 
existed this difference between the two men. Thack- 
eray had a strength not given to his brother in art. 

Only in one way can the public evince its sympathy 
with an author — by purchasing his books. It follows, 
then, that Dickens attached great importance to the 

278 



ART, VERACITY, AND MORAL PURPOSE 

varying demand for his complete novels, or for the 
separate monthly parts at their time of issue. Here 
again is a stone of stumbling for the disinterested 
artist who reads Dickens's life. We may select two 
crucial examples. 

After the first visit to America began the publication 
of *'Martin Chuzzlewit," and it was seen at once that 
the instalments from month to month were less fav- 
orably received than those of the earlier books. The 
sixty thousand or so of regular purchasers decreased 
by about two-thirds. '^Whatever the causes," says 
Forster, '*here was the undeniable fact of a grave de- 
preciation of sale in his writings, unaccompanied by any 
falling off either in themselves or in the writer's repu • 
tation. It was very temporary ; but it was present, and 
to be dealt with accordingly." (Book IV. 2.) Dick- 
ens's way of dealing with it was to make his hero sud- 
denly resolve to go to America. Number Four closed 
with that declaration, and its results were seen, we are 
told, in an additional two thousand purchases. For- 
ster's words, of course, represent Dickens's view of 
the matter, which amounts to this : that however thor- 
oughly assured an author may be that he is doing his 
best, a falling-off in the sale of his work must needs 
cause him grave mental disturbance; nay, that it must 
prompt him, as a matter of course, to changes of plan 
and solicitous calculation. He is to write, in short, 
with an eye steadily fixed upon his publisher's sale- 
room; never to lose sight of that index of popular 
approval or the reverse. That phrase ''to be dealt with 
accordingly" is more distasteful than one can easily 
express to anyone with a tincture of latter-day con- 

279 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

scientiousness in things of art. As I have said, it can 
be explained in a sense not at all dishonorable to Dick- 
ens; but how much more pleasant would it be to read 
in its place some quite unparliamentary utterance, 
such, for example, as Scott made use of when William 
Blackwood requested him to change the end of one 
of his stories. 

It sounds odd to praise Scott, from, this point of 
view, at the expense of Dickens. As a conscientious 
workman Dickens is far ahead of the author of "Wav- 
erley," who never dreamed of taking such pains as 
with the other novelist became habitual. We know, 
too, that Scott avowedly wrote for money, and varied 
his subjects in accordance with the varying public 
taste. But let us suppose that his novels had appeared 
in monthly parts, and that such an experience had be- 
fallen him as this of Dickens ; can we easily imagine 
Walter Scott, in an attitude of commercial despond- 
ency, anxiously deliberating on the subject of his next 
chapter? The thing is inconceivable. It marks the 
difference not only between two men, but two epochs. 
Not with impunity, for all his generous endowments, 
did Dickens come to manhood in the year 1832 — the 
year in which Sir Walter said farewell to a world he 
no longer recognized. 

The other case which I think it worth while to men- 
tion is that of Dickens's first Christmas story, the 
''Carol.'' In those days Christmas publications di<l 
not come out three or four months before the season 
they were meant to celebrate. The ''CaroF' appeared 
only just before Christmas Eve; it was seized upon 
with enthusiasmi, and edition followed edition. Un- 

280 



ART, VERACITY, AND MORAL PURPOSE 

luckily, the publisher had not exercised prudence in the 
''cost of production;'' the profits were small, and as 
a consequence we have the following letter, addressed 
to Forster in January, 1844 : "Such a night as I have 
passed ! I really believed I should never get up again 
until I had passed through all the horrors of a fever. 
I found the 'Carol' accounts awaiting me, and they 
were the cause of it. The first six thousand copies 
show a profit of £230! and the last four will yield as 
much more. I had set my heart and soul upon a thou- 
sand clear. What a wonderful thing it is that such 
a great success should occasion me such intolerable 
anxiety and disappointment! My year's bills, unpaid, 
are so terrific, that all the energy and determination 
I can possibly exert will be required to clear me before 
I go abroad." (Book IV. 2.) Now this letter is very 
disagreeable reading ; for, at so early a stage in its writ- 
er's career, it points already to the end. These "ter- 
rific" bills — had they been less terrific, say, by only one 
quarter, and had they been consistently kept at a point 
below the terrifying — how much better for Dickens 
himself and for the world. It could not be. The great 
middle class was growing enormously rich with its 
coal mines and steam-engines, and the fact of his being 
an artist did not excuse a member of that class from 
the British necessity of keeping up appearances. So 
we have all but the "horrors of a fever" because a 
little book, which Thackeray rightly called "a national 
benefit," brought in only a certain sum of money! In 
his perturbation Dickens does himself injustice. He 
had not "set his heart and soul" on a thousand pounds; 
he never in all his life set his heart and soul on wealth. 

281 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

''No man/' he said once, in talk with friends, "at- 
taches less importance to the possession of money, orr 
less disparagement to the want of it, than I do," and! 
he spoke essential truth. It would be quite unjust to 
think of Dickens as invariably writing in fear of dimin- 
ishing sales, or as trembling with cupidity whenever he; 
opened his publishers' accounts. To understand the^ 
whole man we must needs remark the commercial side ' 
of him ; but his genius saved him from the worst results 
of the commercial spirit. 

It was not only of money that he stood in need. Re- 
member his theatrical leanings, and one understands 
without difficulty how important to him was the stimu- 
lus of praise. From the early days, as has often been 
observed, the relations between Dickens and his public 
were notably personal ; in his study, he sat, as it were, 
with hearers grouped about him, conscious of their 
presence, happily, in quite another way than that 
already noticed. Like the actor (which indeed he ulti- 
mately became), his desire was for instant applause, 
Dickens could never have struggled for long years 
against the lack of appreciation. In coldness towards 
his work he would have seen its literary condemna- 
tion, and have turned to a new endeavor. When the 
readers of "Martin Chuzzlewit" fall off he is troubled, 
first and foremost, by the failure of popular sym- 
pathy. He asks himself, most anxiously, what the 
cause can be; and, with a touching deference to the 
voice of the crowd, is inclined to think that he has 
grown less interesting. For, observe, that Dickens 
never conceives himself, when he aims at popularity, 
as writing down to his audience. Of that he is wholly 

282 



ART, VERACITY, AND MORAL PURPOSE 

incapable; for that he has too much understanding 
of the conditions of literary success. Never yet was 
popularity, in whatsoever class, achieved by deliberate 
pursuit of a low ideal. The silliest story which ever 
enjoyed a real vogue among the silliest readers was 
a true representation of the author's mind; for only 
to writing of this kind — sincere though in foolishness 
— comes a response from multitudes of readers. Dick- 
ens might alter his intention, might change his theme ; 
but he never did so with the thought that he was con- 
descending. In this respect a true democrat, he be- 
lieved, probably without ever reflecting upon it, that 
the approval of the people was necessarily the supreme 
in art. At the same time, never man wrought more 
energetically to justify the people's choice. 

How does this attitude of mind affect Dickens's 
veracity as an artist concerned with everyday life? In 
what degree, and in what directions, does he feel him- 
self at liberty to disguise facts, to modify circum- 
stances for the sake of giving pleasure or avoiding 
offence ? 

Our "realist" will hear of no such paltering with 
truth. Heedless of Pilate's question, he takes for 
granted that the truth can be got at, and that it is his 
plain duty to set it down without compromise; or, if 
less crude in his perceptions, he holds that truth, for 
the artist, is the impression produced on him, and 
that to convey this impression with entire sincerity is 
his sole reason for existing. To Dickens such a view 
of the artist's duty never presented itself. Art, for 
him, was art precisely because it was not nature. Even 
our realists may recognize this, and may grant that it is 

283 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

the business of art to select, to dispose — under penal- 
ties if the result be falsification. But Dickens went 
further; he had a moral purpose; the thing above all 
others scornfully forbidden in our schools of rigid art. 

Let it not be forgotten that he made his public pro- 
test — moderate enough, but yet a protest — against 
smooth conventionalism. In the preface of ''Nicholas 
Nickleby" he defends himself against those who cen- 
sured him for not having made his hero * 'always blame- 
less and agreeable.'' He had seen no reason, he says, 
for departing from the plain facts of human character. 
This is interesting when we call to mind the personal- 
ity of Nicholas, who must have got into very refined 
company for his humanity to prove offensive. But the 
English novel was at a sorry pass in that day, and 
doubtless Dickens seriously believed that he had taken 
a bold step towards naturalism (had iie known the 
word). Indeed, was he not justified in thinking so? 
Who, if not Dickens, founded the later school of Eng- 
lish fiction? He who as a young man had uncon- 
sciously obeyed Goethe's precept, taking hold upon the 
life nearest to him, making use of it for literature, 
and proving that it was of interest, could rightly claim 
the honors of an innovator. 

The preface to "Oliver Twist,'' in defending his 
choice of subject, strikes the note of compromise, and 
at the same time declares in simple terms the authoi's 
purpose. After speaking of the romances of high- 
waymen then in vogue, which he held to be harmful, 
because so false to experience, he tells how he had 
resolved to give a true picture of a band of thieves, 
seeing no reason "why the dregs of life (as long as 

284 



ART, A^ERACITY, AND MORAL PURPOSE 

their speech did not offend the ear) should not serve 
the purpose of a moral." Here, then, we have it 
stated plainly that we are not to look for complete 
verisimilitude in the speech of his characters, and 
again, that he only exhibts these characters in terrorem, 
or, at all events, to induce grave thoughts. When I 
come to discuss in detail Dickens's characterization I 
shall have to ask how far it is possible truthfully to 
represent a foul-mouthed person, whilst taking care 
that the words he uses do not ''offend the ear.'' Here 
I wish only to indicate the limits which Dickens im- 
posed upon himself. He, it is clear, had no misgiving; 
to him Bill Sikes and Nancy and Charley Bates were 
convincing figures, though they never once utter a 
vile word — which, as a matter of fact, they one and 
all did in every other breath. He did not deliberately 
sacrifice truth to refinement. Moreover, he was con- 
vinced that he had done a moral service to the world. 
That both these ends were attained by help of unex- 
ampled buoyancy of spirit, an unfailing flow of the 
quaintest mirth, the kindliest humor, should in con- 
sistency appear to us the strangest thing of all — to us 
who strive so hard for ''atmosphere," insist so 
strongly upon "objectivity" in the author. But in this 
matter Dickens troubled himself with no theory or 
argument. He wrote as his soul dictated, and surely 
could not have done better. 

xA^dmitting his limits, accepting them even gladly, he 
was yet possessed with the sense of the absolute reality 
of ever3^thing he pictured forth. Had the word been 
in use he must necessarily have called himself a Real- 
ist. It is one of the biographical commonplaces con- 

285 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

cerning Dickens. Everyone knows how he excited 
himself over his writing, how he laughed and cried 
with his imaginary people, how he had all but made 
himself ill with grief over the deathbed of little Nell 
or of Paul Dombey. This means, of course, that his 
imagination worked with perfect freedom, had the: 
fullest scope, without ever coming in conflict with the 
prepossessions of his public. Permission to write as 
Smollett and as Fielding wrote could in no way have 
advantaged Dickens. He was the bom story-teller of 
a certain day, of a certain class. Again he does not deem i 
himself the creator of a world, but the laboriously 
faithful painter of that about him. He labors his 
utmost to preserve illusion. Dickens could never have ■ 
been guilty of that capital crime against art so light- 
heartedly committed by Anthony Trollope, who will 
begin a paragraph in his novels with some such words 
as these: "Now, if this were fact, and not a story 
, . ." For all that, Trollope was the more literal' 
copier of life. But his figures do not survive as those 
of Dickens, who did in fact create — created indi- 
viduals, to become at once and for ever representative 
of their time. 

Whilst at work, no questioning troubled him. But 
in speaking of the results, he occasionally allows us a 
glimpse of his mind ; we see how he reconciled art with 
veracity. The best instance I can recall is his com- 
ment upon ''Doctor Marigold,'' the Cheap Jack, of 
whom he drew so wonderful a picture. He says, "It 
is wonderfully like the real thing, of course a little > 
refined and humored." Note the of course. Art was; 
art, not nature. He had to make his Cheap Jack pre- 

286 



ART, VERACITY, AND MORAL PURPOSE 

sentable, to disguise anything repellent, to bring out 
every interesting and attractive quality. A literal 
transcript of the man's being would not have seemed to 
him within his province. But it is just this "refining" 
and "humoring" which our day holds traitorous; the 
outcome of it is called Idealism. 

At times Dickens's ideaHsm goes further, leading 
him into misrepresentation of social facts. Refining 
and humoring, even from his point of view, must have 
their Hmits; and these he altogether exceeded in a 
character such as Lizzie Hexam, the heroine of "Our 
Mutual Friend." The child of a Thames-side loafer, 
uneducated, and brought up amid the roughest sur- 
roundings, Lizzie uses language and expresses senti- 
ment which would do credit to a lady in whatsoever 
position. In the same way, the girl called Alice Mar- 
low, who plays so melodramatic a part in "Dombey and 
Son," represents a total impossibility, the combination 
of base origin and squalid life, with striking mental 
power, strikingly developed. This kind of thing is 
permissible to no artist who deals with the actual 
world. Using a phrase germane to our subject, it is 
morally mischievous. Many a novelist has sinned in 
this direction ; above all, young authors misled by mo- 
tives alien to art, who delight in idealizing girls of the 
lower or lowest class. Dickens had outgrown that stage 
of pardonable weakness when he wrote "Our Mutual 
Friend." He wished, of course, to contrast the lower- 
born Lizzie Hexam with persons, in the same story, of 
what is called good birth and breeding, and to show her 
their superior; a purpose which aggravates his fauh, 
the comparison being so obviously unfair. In this con- 

287 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

nection I recall a figure from Thackeray; the unedu- 
cated girl with whom Arthur Pendemiis forms a peril- 
ous acquaintance. Fanny Bolton is one of the truest 
characters in all fiction, — so unpleasantly true, the read- 
ers ignorant of her class might imagine the author to 
have drawn her in a spirit of social prejudice. 
Never was his hand more admirably just. Fanny Bol- 
ton is one of the instances I had in mind when I 
alluded to Thackeray's power in describing other 
modes of life than that with which his name is asso- 
ciated. 

Here Dickens idealized to please himself. In the 
end, it came to the same thing when we see him hesi- 
tating over a design of which he doubted the popular 
acceptance. Walter Gay in ''Dombey and Son,'' 
whose career is so delightfully prosperous, seemed 
at one moment about to be condemned to a very differ- 
ent fate. 'T think," writes Dickens in a letter, ''it 
would be a good thing to disappoint all the expecta- 
tions this chapter seems to raise of his happy connec- 
tion with the story and the heroine, and to show him 
gradually and naturally trailing away from that love 
of adventure and boyish lightheartedness, into negli- 
gence, idleness, dissipation, dishonesty, and ruin. 
To show, in short, that common, everyday mis- 
erable declension, of which we know so much in 
our ordinary life." (Forster, Book VI. 2.) Here, 
indeed, is a suggestion of ''realism;" but we know, 
in reading it, that Dickens could never have carried 
it out. He adds, "Do you think it may be done, with- 
out making people angry?" Certainly it could not; 
Dickens knew it could not, even when the artist deep 

2S8 



i 



ART, VERACITY, AND MORAL PURPOSE 

within him brooded over the theme; he gave it up 
almost at once. Forster points out that something 
of the same idea was eventually used in ''Bleak 
House/' But Richard Carstone, though he wastes 
his life, does not sink to "dissipation, dishonesty, and 
ruin/' The hand was stayed where the picture would 
have become too painful alike for author and public — 
always, or nearly always, in such entire sympathy. 
The phrase about "making people angry'' signifies 
much less than it would in a novelist of today. It 
might well have taken the form : "Can I bring myself 
to do this thing?" 

To return for a moment to "Our Mutual Friend," 
I never look into that book without feeling a suspicion 
that Dickens originally meant Mr. Boffin to suffer a 
real change of character, to become in truth the mis- 
erly curmudgeon which we are told he only pretended 
to be. Careful reading of the chapters which bear on 
this point has confirmed my impression; for which, 
however, there is no support that I know of, in For- 
ster or elsewhere. It may well have been that here 
again Dickens, face to face with an unpleasant bit of 
truth, felt his heart fail him. Again he may have 
asked, "Will it make people angry?" If so — on this 
I wish to insist — it was in no spirit of dishonest com- 
pliance that he changed his plan. To make people 
angry would have been to defeat his own prime pur- 
pose. Granting two possible Mr. Boffins : he who be- 
comes a miser in reality, and he who, for a good pur- 
pose, acts the miser's part ; how much better to choose 
the Mr. Boffin who v/ill end in hearty laughter and 
overflowing benevolence ! 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

Avoidance of the disagreeable, as a topic uncongenial 
to art — this is Dickens's principle. There results, neces- 
sarily, a rather serious omission from his picture of 
life. Writing once from Boulogne, and describing the 
pier as he saw it of an evening, he says, 'T never did 
behold such specimens of the youth of my country, 
male and female, as pervade that place. They are really 
in their vulgarity and insolence quite disheartening. 
One is so fearfully ashamed of them, and they con- 
trast so very unfavoraHy with the natives." (Forster, 
Book VII. 4.) But Dickens certainly had no need to 
visit Boulogne to study English 'Vulgarity and inso- 
lence:'' it blared around him wherever he walked in 
London, and, had he wrought in another spirit, it 
must have taken a very large place in every one of his 
books. He avoided, or showed it only in such forms 
as amused rather than disgusted. The Boulogne pier- 
walker, a monumental creature at that day, deserved 
his niche in fiction ; Dickens glanced at him, and passed 
him by. 

Two examples dw^ell in my memory which show 
him in the mood for downright fact of the unpleasant 
sort. More might be discovered, but these, I think, 
would remain the noteworthy instances of "realism" 
in Dickens; moments when, for whatever reason, he 
saw fit to tell a harsh truth without any mitigation. 
One occurs in the short story of ''Doctor Marigold." 
We have seen that the figure of the Cheap Jack was 
"refined and humored ;" not so that of the Cheap Jack's 
wife, the brutal woman who ill-uses and all but kills her 
child. This picture is remorseless in everyday truth ; 
no humor softens it, no arbitrary event checks the 

290 



ART, VERACITY, AND MORAL PURPOSE 

course of the woman's hateful cruelty. The second 
example is ''George Silverman's Explanation," an- 
other short story, which from beginning to end is writ- 
ten in a tone of uncompromising bitterness. Being 
told by Silverman himself, its consistent gloom is dra- 
matically appropriate and skilful. Here we have ;i 
picture of pietistic virulence the like of which cannot 
be found elsewhere in Dickens; hard bare fact; never 
a smile to lighten the impression ; no interference with 
the rigor of destiny. Anything but characteristic, this 
little story is still a notable instance of Dickens's power 
Were the author unknown it would be attributed ^o 
some strenuous follower of our "realistic" school. 

From his duty as he conceived it, of teaching a 
moral lesson, Dickens never departs. He has an un- 
failing sense of the high importance of h**s work from 
this point of view. Not that it preoccupies him, as was 
the case with George Eliot, and weighs tipon him as he 
writes; naturally and calmly, without suspicion of 
pose, without troublous searching of conscience, he 
sees his subject as a moral lesson, and cannot under- 
stand the position of an artist to whom such thought 
never occurs. And his morality is of the simplest; a 
few plain ordinances serve for human guidance; to 
infringe them is to be marked for punishment more 
or less sensational; to follow the path of the just is to 
ensure a certain amount of prosperity, and reward un- 
limited in buoyancy of heart. The generality of read- 
ers like to see a scoundrel get his deserts, and Dick- 
ens, for the most part, gives them abundant satisfac- 
tion. No half measures. When Pecksniff is unmasked^ 
we have the joy of seing him felled to the ground in 

291 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

the presence of a jubilant company. Nor does this 
suffice; he and his daughter Cherry, both having for- 
feited all the sympathies of decent folk, come to actual 
beggary, and prowl about the murky streets. Nothing 
more improbable than such an end for Mr. Pecksniff 
or for his daughter — who was very well able to take 
care for herself; and obviously a deeper moral would 
be implied in the continued flourishing of both; but 
Dickens and his public were impatient to see the rascal 
in the dirt, the shrew beside him. Sampson Brass and 
his sister, whose crime against society is much more 
serious, pass their later years in the same squalid de- 
feat; yet we feel assured that the virile Sally, at all 
events, made a much better fight against the conse- 
quences of her rascality. Lady Dedlock, having sinned 
in a manner peculiarly unpardonable, is driven by re- 
morse from her luxurious home, and expires in one of 
the foulest corners of London. Remorse alone, how- 
ever poignant and enduring, would not seem an ade- 
quate enalty; we must see the proud lady, the sinful 
woman, literally brought low, down to the level of the 
poor wretch who was her accomplice. Ill-doers less 
conspicuous are let off with a punishment which can 
be viewed facetiously, but punished they are. It is all 
so satisfying; it so rounds off our conception of life. 
Nothing is so abhorred by the multitude as a lack of 
finality in stories, a vagueness of conclusion which 
gives them the trouble of forming surmises. 

Equally, of course, justice is tempered with mercy. 
Who would have the heart to demand rigor of the law 
for Mr. Jingle and Job Trotter? We see them all 
but starved to death in a debtors' prison, and that is 

292 



ART, VERACITY, AND MORAL PURPOSE 

enough; their conversion to honesty gives such scope 
for Mr. Pickwick's delightful goodness that nothing 
could be more in accord with the fitness of things. 
Squeers or Mr. Creakle we will by no means forgive ; 
nay, of their hard lot, so well merited, we will make 
all the fun we can; but many a pleasant scamp who 
has shaken our sides shall be put in the way of earn- 
ing an honest living. Profoundly human, however 
crude to an age that cannot laugh and cry so readily .. 
Good sound practical teaching, which Avil! help the 
soul of man long after more pretentious work has re- 
turned to dust. 

Ah, those final chapters of Dickens! How eagerly 
they are read by the young, and with what a pleasant 
smile by elders who prize the good things of litera- 
ture! No one is forgotten, and many an unsuspected 
bit of happiness calls aloud for gratitude to the author. 
Do you remember Mr. Mell, the underpaid and bullied 
usher in *'David Copperfield," — the poor broken-spir- 
ited fellow whose boots will not bear another mend- 
ing, — who uses an hour of liberty to visit his mother in 
the alms-house, and gladden her heart by piping sorry 
music on his flute? We lose sight of him, utterly; 
knowing only that he has been sent about his busi- 
ness after provoking the displeasure of the insolent 
lad Steerforth. Then, do you remember how, at the 
end of the book, David has news from Australia, de- 
licious news about Mr. Micawber, and Mrs. Gum- 
midge, and sundry other people, and how in reading 
the Colonial paper, he suddenly comes upon the name 
of "Dr. Mell," a distinguished man at the Antipodes? 
Who so stubborn a theorist that this kindly figment of 

293 



STUDIES IN DICKENS 

the imagination does not please him^ Who would 
prefer to learn the cold fact; that Mell, the rejected 
usher sank from stage to stage of wretchedness and 
died — uncertain which — in the street or the work- 
house ? 

It was not by computing the density of the common 
brain, by gauging the force of vulgar p*-ejudice, thai 
Charles Dickens rose to his supreme popularity. Na- 
ture made him the mouthpiece of his kind, in all that 
relates to simple emotions and homely thought. Who 
can more rightly be called an artist than he who gave 
form and substance to the ideal of goodness and 
purity, of honor, justice, mercy, whereby the dim mul- 
titudes f alteringly seek to direct their steps ? This was 
his task in life, to embody the better dreams of or- 
dinary men; to fix them as bright realities, for weary 
eyes to look upon. He achieved it in the strength of 
a faultless sympathy ; following the true instincts which 
it is so unjust — so unintelligent — to interpret as mere 
commercial shrewdness or dulness of artistic percep- 
tion. Art is not single; to every great man his prov- 
ince, his mode. During at least one whole generation, 
Charles Dickens, in the world of literature, meant Eng- 
land. For his art, splendidly triumphant, made visible 
to all mankind the characteristic virtues, the typical 
shortcomings, of the homely English race. 



294 



ART, VERACITY, AND MORAL PURPOSE 

DICKENS 

Chief in thy generation bom of men 

Whom English praise acclaimed as English-born, 
With eyes that matched the world wide eyes of mom 
For gleam of tears or laughter, tenderest then 
When thoughts of children warmed their light, or when 
Reverence of age with love or labor worn, 
Or godlike pity fired with godlike scorn. 
Shot through them flame that winged thy swift live 

pen: 
Where stars and suns that we behold not burn. 

Higher even than here, though highest was here thy 

place, 
Love sees thy spirit laugh and speak and shine 
With Shakespeare, and the soft bright soul of Sterne, 
And Fielding's kindliest might, and Goldsmith's 

grace ; 
Scarce one more loved and worthier than thine. 

— A. C. Simnburne, 



295 



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